GOLD-THREAD 


OTHER    POEMS. 


HELEN    M.   COOKE, 

(LOTTIE  LIN  WOOD.) 


NEW    YORK: 
E.    B.    TKEAT,   805    BKOADWAY, 

1874. 


Entered  accorSm^  £o  ;^et<  <5f  £<5rjg?ej=i4  Jn  the -year  1874,  by 

HELEN  M.  CO  ORE, 

in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


DEDICATION. 


TO 
THE    HON.    O.    S.    HALSTED, 

EX-CHANCELLOR  OF  NEW  JERSEY, 
BY 

THE    AUTHOR. 


938584 


PREFACE. 


THESE  poems  are  published  by  the  urgent  re- 
quest of  friends,  many  of  whose  faces  I  have  never 
seen,  whose  hands  have  never  been  clasped  in 
mine,  but  whose  sweet  sympathies  have  sprung 
into  life  and  linked  our  hearts  even  as  the  beauti- 
ful Gold- Thready  which  creeps  through  the  silent 
darkness  of  the  ground  and  links  its  marvelous 
nerve-like  tendrils  together  in  thousands  of  insep- 
arable ties,  sending  up  now  and  then  a  pure  white 
blossom  that  makes  the  world  more  fragrant  and 
lovely— we  know  not  how. 

I  have  called  my  book  GOLD-THREAD,  for  it 
seems  to  me  its  contents  have  sprung  out  of  the 
hidden  intensities  of  my  woman's  heart ;  that  in 
it  and  with  it  lie  the  deepest  sorrows  and  sweetest 
joys  I  have  ever  known. 

The  world  may  have  seen  iu  its  author  only  the 
meek  white  blossoms  growiug  small  and  low,  that 


X  PREFACE. 

any  rude  feet  could  trample  over  to  reach  a  higher 
and  richer  bloom ;  but  to  those  of  my  dear  readers, 
whether  man  or  woman,  who  have  been  hungry, 
tired,  lonely,  who  have  known  the  great  love,  and 
helpless  yearnings  for  humanity,  with  all  its  losses, 
and  failures,  who  have  helped  to  bear  its  crosses, 
it  will  find  an  answering  voice — a  throb  of  unutter- 
able sympathy,  and  its  mission  will  have  been  ac- 
complished. To  touch  a  human  heart  is  greater 
than  Fame.  I  shall  be  satisfied. 

H.  M.  C. 


CONTENTS. 


DEDICATOBY  POEM. 

A  Birthday  Song 62 

A  Christmas  Rhyme , .     53 

Acrostic '. 179 

A  Fragment 152 

A  Hymn 194 

A  June  Memory . . .  • 160 

Alas! 162 

Always  Tired 155 

A  Midnight  Rhyme 135 

Anticipation 127 

A  Prophecy 60 

A  Plea  for  the  Aged 95 

A  Response 192 

A  Song 72 

At  Evening 47 

At  the  Grave  oi  Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourney 120 

A  Winter's  Dream  of  Summer  n 1G4 

Because  I  Love  You 38 

Be  Thyself 190 

Between  the  Clouds 168 

Beyond 100 

Bitter-Sweet  .  174 


x-'i  CONTENTS. 

By-and-By 172 

Bye-Bye 80 

By  the  Sea 83 

Dead  Forever 23 

Dream  On 139 

Ellen  Clementine  Howarth 44 

Gold-Thread 17 

Greenwood  Cemetery 132 

Hei'nlock  Grove 68 

Hope 146 

Hungry  and  Tired 75 

I  Remember 40 

In  Memoriam 24 

In  the  Sunshine 78 

I  Pray  for  Thee  at  Nightfall 122 

I  will  be  True  to  Thee 158 

July , 36 

Kisses 134 

Leaves IOC 

Leave  us  not  Yet 102 

Life-time 77 

Lilacs * 29 

Lilla  Bur't 22 

Lines  for  an  Album 104 

Lines  (Go  while,  etc.) '   89 

Lines  to  Anna  M.  Bates 137 

Mattie 2C 

May-time T 74 

Monody 182 

Mortality 191 

My  Serenade 188 

Music 118 

Newsboys 149 


CON1ENT8,  xiii 

No  Night 48 

Old  Memories 116 

On  the  Death  of  O.  D.  Seymour,  Jr 147 

On  the  Shore 33 

One  More  Poet 57 

Our  Lizzie 87 

Overtasked 59 

Reverie 131 

School's  Out 141 

Slain  29 

Sympathy 91 

Stanzas 42 

Tempted • 170 

The  Autumn  Wind 175 

The  Child's  Prayer 66 

The  Dear  Eyes 64 

The  Flower  in  the  Snow 177 

The  Gift  of  Song 109 

The  Rainfall 186 

The  Khyme  of  an  Autumn  Day 85 

The  Sainted  Picture 92 

The  Silent  Boom 180 

The  Spirit's  Call 143 

The  Magdalen 70 

The  Picture  at  Goupil's 35 

"  Thine  to  the  End." 153 

Thou  Art  away 124 

To  Mary 195 

To  the  Giver  of  a  Basket  of  Flowers 31 

Trailing  Arbutus. 96 

Trinity  Bells 20 

Trusts 55 

Tube  Roses  .                                     97 


siv  CONTENTS. 

Unbeloved 107 

Under  the  Snow-drifts 145 

Violets  in  November 82 

Waiting 49 

Weary  and  Bound 27 

Why Ill 

William  Roderick  Lawrence 113 

"  Write  in  my  Album  " 166 

Woman 184 

You  and  Me 51 


DEDICATORY. 

TO  you  on  whose  broad  brow  will  ever  shine 
A  more  than  poet's  everlasting  crown  ! 
Genius,  and  power,  and  fame  are  all  thine  own ! 
Low  at  thy  feet  I  lay  this  gift  of  mine. 

There  it  has  been  in  days  gone  by  my  pride 
To  sit  and  learn,  and  listen  to  each  word 
From  thy  wise  lips,  till  all  my  life  was  stirred 

To  emulate  so  pure  and  good  a  guide. 

And  often  thus  some  power  of  thine  has  come 
(As  the  sweet  south  wind  on  the  violet, 
That  April  in  her  tearfulness  has  wet — ) 

To  deepen  thoughts  of  mine  to  richer  bloom  ! 

And  thy  grand  life  of  earnest  searching  thought 
Has  been  to  me  a  warmth,  a  helping  light, 


16  DEDICATORY. 

And  led  me  out  from  Doubt's  perplexing  night, 
To  God's  great  freedom,  which  so  few  have  sought . 

And  I  can  lay  my  hand  in  thine  to-day, 

And  know  how  safe  and  sure  His  promise  is  ; 
When  work  and  song  are  ended,  we  are  His, 

With  gift  of  life  immortal  from  decay. 


GOLD    THREAD. 

AM  I  to  blame  if  in  the  world  of  Thought 
I  strike  low  chords,  and  sing  in  deepest 

shade, 

While  happier  singers  find  a  sunnier  spot, 
And  pour  their  lays  out  in  the  open  glade  ? 

Long,  long  and  weary  years  ago  there  came 
A  genial  spirit  hovering  by  my  side, 

And  talked  of  poesy,  and  love,  and  fame, 

And  fired  my  soul  for  all  of  these — and  died  ! 

I  died  too,  with  my  bright  young  hopes  and  dreams; 

Drew  back  my  eager  hands  that  reached  for 

fame  ; 
My  feet  went  down  to  deep  and  silent  streams  ; 

And  my  mute  lips  moaned  only  one  dear  name, 

I  surely  died  then,  in  the  long  ago — 

Hiding  my  tears  and  sobs  all  out  of  sight ; 

17 


18  GOLD    THREAD. 

Hushed  my  despair  so  well  that  none  could  know 
Of  my  Gethsemane,  or  after  night. 

Tear  after  year  the  early  violets  come, 
And  summer  roses  drop  around  his  head, 

Like  rosaries  that  slip  through  hands  of  bloom — 
In  voiceless  prayers,  to  bless  with  peace  my 
dead. 

And  over  all  the  darkness  and  the  gloom, 

And  through  the  longings,  and  the  throbs  of 
pain, 

Through  all  the  fading  of  this  earthly  bloom  ; 
The  thought  conies  ever,  "  we  shall  meet  again!" 

A  fairer  light  will  shine  again  for  me  ; 

Dreams  of  our  past-time  brighten  into  truth  ; 
Beyond  the  cold  depths  of  the  silent  sea, 

Will  come  the  sweet  words  of  our  perished 
youth. 

Oh  hope  immortal !  not  forever  dead  ! 

Though  parted  for  a  little  while  in  tears — • 
All  the  sweet  memories  of  the  days  long  fled 

Will  live  beyond  Time's  swiftly  rolling  years. 


GOLD   THREAD.  11 

Oh,  great  Hereafter  !  great  immortal  life  ! 

Oh,  vast  Forever,  where  no  death  shall  coine ! 
Where  endless  being  unto  saints  shall  give 

A  perfect  joy,  a  final  rest,  a  home  ! 

Yet  underneath  this  cloud  I  see  him  not ; 

My  songs  still  tremble  with  a  stifled  sob  ; 
I  miss  him  here  in  each  familiar  spot 

Where'er  I  go,  and  in  the  heart's  low  throb. 

Reach  down,  oh  Hand  Immortal,  unto  me, 

And  through  these  shadows  lead  me  to  the  light , 

And  give  me  strength  that  I  may  calmly  see 
The  clouds  of  sorrow  drifting  out  of  sight ! 


TEINITY    BELLS. 

WHAT  are  you  saying  in  tones  so  sweet, 
Musical  bells — in  the  soft  spring  air, 
While  I  plod  on  in  the  crowded  street, 
Weary  and  sad  with  my  weight  of  care  ? 

Sometimes  you  touch  on  a  quivering  string, 
Waking  some  memory  dead  for  years  ; 

And  the  old-time  pain  to  my  heart  will  spring, 
And  my  eyes  are  filled  with  their  blinding  tears. 

They  are  pressing  me  sore  on  every  side, 

With  toil,  and  care,  and  the  great  world's  strife; 

With  the  rush  and  crowd  of  the  city's  tide, 
And  the  crushing  weight  of  this  human  life. 

But  above  it  all,  like  a  tireless  bird — 
Your  notes  ring  out,  as  we  come  and  go, 

Till  my  envious  heart  with  a  wish  is  stirred 
Toward  the  peaceful  sleepers  that  lie  below. 
20 


:  TRINITY  BELLS.  21 

And  I  pause  a  moment  as  on  I  pass, 
To  note  how  quiet  and  still  they  lie  ; 

Not  even  a  wave  in  the  churchyard  grass 
Do  their  bosoms  lift  by  a  sob  or  sigh. 

Oh,  Trinity  Bells  !  dear  Trinity  Bells  ! 

How  many  a  sad,  sweet  thing  you  say, 
As  your  varied  chime  on  the  soft  air  swells, 

To  the  world  of  hearts  that  throng  Broadway. 

While  trade,  and  traffic,  and  worldly  pride. 

Are  running  riot  within  thy  sound  ; 
Some  tear-stained  eyes  in  the  restless  tide, 

Look  up  for  rest  to  the  Blue  Beyond. 
2 


LILLA    BUKT. 

BLUE-EYED  Lilla,  laughing  child ! 
Fairest  of  our  household  flowers, 
Dancing  in  thy  glee  so  wild, 

Stealing  all  these  hearts  of  ours. 
God  hath  given  thee  to  our  care, 
And  we  hold  thee  tremblingly, 
Fearing  lest  a  bud  so  fair, 

Cannot  bloom  beneath  the  sky. 

We  are  thinking  when  we  gaze 

In  thy  soft  and  starry  eyes, 
When  we  watch  thy  playful  ways, 

Of  thy  mates  in  Paradise. 
Living,  dying,  well  we  know, 

God  protects  his  lambs  from  hurt ; 
Though  we  love  and  prize  thee  so, 

Thou  art  His,  sweet  Lilla  Burt. 
22 


DEAD    FOREVER 

YES,  yes,  the  dream  has  fled, 
Our  love  lies  strangled,  dead  ; 
Heart  calls  not  back  to  heart  with  one  sweet  word. 
The  Past  shall  ever  keep 
With  silence,  oh,  how  deep ! 
The  power  to  touch  for. us  one  answering  chord. 

In  one  sad  hour  it  died, 

Slain  by  our  human  pride ; 
No  dear  Christ  of  the  past  shall  bid  it  rise  again  ; 

Our  hearts  have  ceased  their  cry, 

Stilled  all  their  agony, 
All  their  sweet  passion,  all  their  bitter  pain  ! 

In  all  our  future  years, 

Whether  of  smiles  or  tears, 
Drifting  apart  forever,  you  and  me  ! 

Over  each  promise  fair 

Surges  a  cold  despair  ; 
Dead,  now  and  always,  through  eternity. 

23 


IN    MEMOKIAM. 

npHEEE  is  a  heart-break  in  the  robin's  singing, 

A     A  note  of  sorrow  in  the  low  wind's  song, 
And  the  red  flower-bells  on  the  uplands  swinging, 
Seem  tolling  a  sad  requiem  all  day  long  ! 

Hearts  that  were  glad  with  summer's  flush  and 


And  brimming  o'er  with  joy,  one  year  ago, 
Have  learned  amid  life's  winter,  sorrow's  story, 
And  shadows  creep  where'er  their  footsteps  go. 

For  we  remember  how  a  great  heart  perished 
In  all  his  manly  beauty  and  his  pride  ; 

In  early  spring-time,  the  beloved  and  cherished 
Laid  down  life's  bunion  quietly,  and  died. 

Oh  life,  so  bitter  !  full  of  pains  and  crosses  ; 

There  comes  one  dark  Gethsemane  to  all  ! 
One  heaviest  woe  to  all  our  heavy  losses, 

The  shadow  dropping  on  the  loved  one's  pall. 
24 


IN  MEMOEIAM.  26 

We  cannot  lift  it  with  our  feeble  trying, 

Though  tears  fall  fast,  and  our  poor  hearts 
make  inoan  ; 

The  world  is  full  of  losing  and  of  dying, 
Of  hearts  that  break  in  silence  and  alone. 

And  so  we  wait,  the  shadows  growing  longer ; 

And  valleys  deeper  in  the  churchyard  grass  ; 
Praying  the  while  that  God  will  make  us  stronger 

For  all  the  days  of  loneliness  we  pass. 

So  spring  returns  with  all  the  buds  and  blossoms, 
Winds  chant  their  Easter  anthems  o'er  and  o'er, 

Shedding  their  glory  on  the  silent  bosoms 
Where  we  may  rest  our  weary  heads  no  more. 


MATTIE. 

DAEK-EYBD  Mattie,  friend  of  mine, 
Laughing  in  thy  girlish  glee  ; 
Tell  ine  if  that  heart  of  thine 

Has  one  thought  of  love  for  me  ? 
Tell  me  if  those  nightly  eyes, 

Playful,  frolicsome  and  bright, 
Where  all  tameless  witchery  lies, — 
E'er  will  gleam  with  love's  soft  light  ? 

Now  youth's  golden  morning  lies 

Shining  o'er  thine  early  way  ; 
May  no  clouds  of  sorrow  rise, 

To  enshroud  life's  closing  day  ; 
And  may  Hope's  pure  vestal  star, 

Guard  and  keep  thy  future  years  ; 
Lead  thee  where  the  angels  are, 

Keep  thy  dear  black  eyes  from  tears! 
26 


WEARY    AND    BOUND. 

WEAEY  and  bound  !  oh,  Poetry, 
Bright  spirit !  idol  of  my  Heart ! 
I,  but  an  humble  devotee, 

Bow  meekly  wheresoe'er  thou  art. 

Blest  soul  of  love,  of  joy  and  truth, 
Thou  fadeless  beauty,  fresh  and  free, 

Thou  stream  of  song,  that  charmed  my  youth, 
The  weary  bound  one  cries  for  thee  ! 

Oh,  Poesy  !  my  spirit  swells 

To  plunge  for  aye  in  thy  cool  waves  ; 

It  longs  to  burst  these  earthly  cells, 
And  find  in  thee  the  bliss  it  craves. 

To  tell  the  thoughts  that  upward  spring  ; 

To  break  from  language's  dreamy  lull, 
And  with  unearthly  voice  to  sing 

These  dreams,  so  bright  and  beautiful ! 

27 


28  WEARY  AND    BOUND. 

Unrest,  unrest !  forever  bound, 

And  chafed  with  restless  longing  thought, 
With  whispered  music  all  around, 

But  my  bound  spirit  answers  not. 

Oh,  Earth  !  oh,  Time  !  oh,  Thou,  my  God ! 

When  will  this  fleshly  bondage  cease  ? 
When  laid  this  chain  beneath  the  sod  ? 

When  rest  the  soul  in  endless  peace  ? 

By  the  wild  prayers  I  strive  to  speak, 
By  the  sweet  songs  of  angels  free, 

By  the  strong  power  I  vainly  seek, 
By  hopes,  tears,  loves,  oh  answer  me ! 


LILACS. 

PURPLING  in,  and  purp'ling  out, 
'Mong  the  emerald  leaves, 
Weaving  beauty  round  about 

The  low  and  mossy  eaves ; 
Bringing  to  our  memory  back 

Many  old-time  joys, 
When  we  danced  on  childhood's  track, 

Merry  girls  and  boys  ; 
When  our  little  hands  reached  high, 

For  their  clustering  bloom, 
Tossing  upward  toward  the  sky, 

In  their  sweet  perfume. 

Golden  hours  !  the  dreamers'  rhyme 

Calls  for  thee  in  vain  ; 
Standing  near  life's  harvest-time, 

'Mid  ungathered  graiu ! 

29 


30  LILACS. 

And  the  blessed  ones  who  stood 

Hand  in  hand  with  me, 
Looking  higher,  up  to  God, 

Went  beyond  life's  sea  ! 
From  this  purple-laden  bough, 

Oft  I  turn  mine  eye  , 
Where  they  gather  blossoms  now, 

To  the  purp'ling  skies  ! 


TO  THE  GIVER  OF  A  BASKET  OF  FLOWERS. 


EEE'S  a  charm  in  every  petal,  a  caress  in 
JL     every  leaf  ; 

In  the  roses'  hearts  lie  folded  a  beautiful  belief  ! 
Oh,  white  and  royal  lily,  when  you  bowed  your 

regal  head 
To   the  hand   that  stole  your  beauty  from   the 

fragrant  garden-bed, 
Wist  ye  not  how  more  than  kingly  was  the  mis- 

sion that  he  gave  ? 
For  in  thy  silent  dying  came  the  blessing  that 

I  crave! 

Ye  are  sanctified  by  fingers  whose  lightest  little 

touch 
Brings  to  me  the  benediction  I  have  coveted  so 

much  ; 
And   through  all  thy  subtle  perfume    floats   the 

tenderness  of  tenrs, 

31 


32  A  BASKET    OF  FLOWERS. 

Drifting  back  into  the  distance    all   the    weary, 

waiting  years 

"When   no   sunlight  and   no  blossoms  beautified 
,         the  path  I  trod, 
Unknowing  that  the  darkness  led  me  up  to  Hope, 

and  God ! 

Oh,  beloved !  sweet  and  tender !  in  thy  hand  I 
lay  my  heart ; 

All  its  blossoms,  all  its  incense,  all  its  truth  to 
thee  impart ; 

Thou  canst  cast  me  back  to  darkness,  to  a  love- 
less, starless  night ; 

Only  in  thy  priceless  loving  finds  my  woman's 
heart  its  light ; 

Crush  me  not,  and  leave  me  dying,  like  these 
flowers,  to  bloom  no  more, 

For  no  other  power  thereafter,  could  one  throb 
of  hope  restore! 


ON    THE    SHORE. 

LIE  still,  proud  heart,  and  dream 
Of  all  thy  being  craves ; 
Float  down  the  sunny  stream, 
Kissed  by  the  cheating  waves. 

For  only  thus  to  thee 

Will  happiness  be  given ; 
Thy  life's  intensity 

Mocks  that  for  which  thou'st  striven. 

Lie  still  tired  heart,  and  dream 
Of  love,  that  lives  and  grows  ; 

That  friends  are  what  they  seem  ; 
Of  hope,  trust,  and  "repose. 

That  some  grand  soul  with  thine, 
Will  merge  to  higher  thought, 

Touching  the  life  divine, 
That  famishes  unsought  ; 


34  ON    THE  SHOER 

Cooling  the  fevered  life 

With  tender  touch  and  word  ; 

Hushing  the  inward  strife, 
By  secret  longings  stirred. 

Lie  still,  poor  heart,  and  dream, 
Here  by  the  sighing  sea ! 

Dream  that  you  only  dream 
That  these  are  not  for  thee. 

Dream  that  a  sheltering  love 
Enfolds  thee  evermore  ; 

That  all  for  which  you  strove 
Lies  with  thee  on  the  shore. 

That  all  the  waves  that  come 
To  touch  thy  weary  feet, 

Bear  on  their  crested  foam, 
Life's  messages  complete, 

Dream  on,  sad  heart,  dream  on, 
Here  by  the  mournful  sea  ! 

While  pitying  waves  make  moan 
In  mystery,  like  thee  ! 


THE    PICTURE    AT    GOUPIL'S. 

IS  it  an  angel's  face  we  see, 
With  saintly  eyes,  and  haloed  brow  ? 
Where  Baphael's  wondrous  touch  has  left 
A  vision  of  the  long  ago  ? 

A  chord  of  music  never  sung 

On  earth  rests  on  those  silent  lips  ; 

As  if  around  their  beauty  hung 
Some  marvellous  apocalypse ! 

O,  angel  child !  what  mother's  heart 
Was  wrung  with  agony  and  pain, 

To  see  the  light  of  life  depart, 
To  give  thee  back  to  God  again  ? 


36 


JULY. 

BRIGHT,  full  of  dreams  and  beauty,  glad 
July, 

With  thy  warm  kisses  on  my  cheek, 
And  thy  low  whispers  passing  ever  by 

On  every  breeze,  I  find  the  joy  I  seek. 
O  world  !  so  full  of  life !  O  world  of  mine  ! 
Thou'rt  like  a  ceaseless  fount  of  sparkling  wine, 
That  stirs  my  being  newly  hour  by  hour, 
With  a  bewildering,  unresisting  power ! 

WThy,  mid  this  carnival  of  bud  and  bloom, 
And  merry  hum  of  insects  on  the  wing, 
And  fragrant  odors,  and  the  songs  of  birds, 
And  joy,  and  life,  and  every  happy  thing, 
Must  come  the  thought  of  blight  and  chill ;  c 

why? 

The  thought  that  these  must  perish  soon  and  dieV 
36 


JULY.  37 

O,  glorious  world  !  dost  hear  my  rapturous  lay, 
As  I  forget  this  golden  summer  day, 
That  thou  and  I  must  fade  and  pass  away  ? 
I  lay  my  hand  on  thy  great,  throbbing  heart, 
And  hear  the  harmonies  that  into  music  start, 
And  bathe  myself  in  beauty,  fragrance,  light, 
Dear  world,  so  daisyrcrowned  and  bright. 

O  royal  month,  O  royal  queen,  July  ! 

Whose  warm  breath  billows  o'er  the  wheat, 
And  scatters  flowers  where  our  loved  ones  lie, 

Whose  tender  hands  fold  down  the  winding- 
sheet  ! 
Only  one  little  shadow,  slanting  low, 

On  heart,  and  stream,  and  flower,  and  cluster- 
ing vine, 
That  thou  art  absent,  that  where'er  I  go, 

I  miss  thy  voice,  my  Sweet,  my  Madaline  1 


"BECAUSE    I    LOVE    YOU." 

ONLY  a  sentence,  quickly,  idly  spoken 
By  careless'  lips,  half  tenderly,  to  me  ; 
As  a  pale  spring-flower  that  has  feebly  opened 
Among  the  dead  leaves  of  an  autumn  tree. 

Once  comes  life's  merry,  joyous  Spring-time, 
Odor  and  bloom,  and  gaily  singing  birds  ; 

Its  wealth  of  trust,  its  loves,  its  full  believing, 
Its  matchless  music  of  endearing  words. 

Once  comes  life's  Autumn,  and  the  fading, 
The  barren,  hopeless  death  of  all  most  dear  ; 

My  Spring  and  Autumn  now  have  passed  forever, 
Now  Winter  comes,  you  may  not  enter  here  ! 

I  will  not  mock  you  with  an  idle  seeming 

Of    what  has  glided    down   Fate's   trembling 

stair ; 

One  place  within  your  soul  will  be  forever  calling 
And  still  be  desolate  ;  I  have  been  there. 
38 


«  BECAUSE  I  LOVE  YOU."  39 

"  Because  I  lave  you  !"  once  my  heart  was  given, 
With  all  its  passions,  all  of  love's  decrees  ; 

I  would  have  paused  e'en  at  the  gates  of  heaven 
To  hear  you  speak,  as  now,  such  words  as  these. 

But  take  them  back ;  the  heart's  cold  chill,  and 

fever, 

Its  broken  faith,  its  waiting  all  in  vain, 
Have  filled  brim-full  at   last   life's    tear-stained 

goblet, 
And  words  like  these  bring  only  bitter  pain. 


I    KEMEMBER 

IKEMEMBEE,  I  remember 
How  he  whispered  very  low, 
Telling  me  to  lift  the  curtain, 

And  to  let  the  moonlight  through ; 
How  with  trembling  hand  I  parted 
Back  the  folds  oi  snowy  sheen; 
And  like  fairies,  merry-hearted, 

Danced  the  moonbeams  gaily  in  ; 
And  they  rested  on  his  pillow, 

On  his  face,  so  pale  and  fair, 
Like  a  wave  of  heavenly  radiance, 

Full  of  glory,  drifted  there  ; 
Then  to  me  his  eyes  he  lifted 

From  a  long,  enraptured  gaze, 
And  I  knew  that  he  was  passing 

Out  from  life's  bewildering  maze 
"  Oh,  how  beautiful !"  he  whispered, 

As  he,  smiling,  dropped  asleep, 
40 


1  REMEMBER. 

Leaving  me  a  lonely  watcher, 
In  the  midnight  hush  to  weep. 

When  the  next  eve-star  came  dancing 

In  the  purple  of  the  west, 
And  the  moon,  a  queen  of  beauty, 

Came  again  with  silvery  crest, 
I  was  still  beside  that  bedside, 

Weeping  bitterly  alone, 
For  the  loved  was  angel-mated, 

And  life's  painful  dream  was  done. 
Still  the  moonlight  flickered  coldly 

O'er  the  face  I  loved  so  well, 
Mocking  me,  for  o'er  my  spirit 

Deepest,  darkest  shadows  fell. 
Now  Beloved,  angel-hearted ! 

Life  is  one  sad  memory, 
How  we  met,  and  loved,  and  parted, 

One  sweet  memory  of  thee ! 


STANZAS. 

DO  thy  footsteps  falter,  ever, 
On  the  weary  march  of  life  ? 
Does  thy  strongest  heart-endeavor, 

Almost  fail  with  earthly  strife  ? 
Then  remember  that  beside  thee 

Angels  walk  in  light  and  peace, 
And  their  ministry  will  guide  thee, 
Till  thy  trials  all  shall  cease. 

Has  thy  heart  a  fadeless  treasure 
On  the  bright  eternal  shore, 

When  the  dreams  of  earthly  pleasure 
Fade  away  to  come  no  more  ? 

Shadowy  life !    and  yet  so  precious — 
Sad,  yet  beautiful  indeed ! 

Hope  and  faith  delight,  refresh  us, 

•  In  our  hours  of  greatest  need. 
42 


STANZAS.  43 

Earth  is  beautiful !  so  blended 

Are  the  sunshine,  shade,  and  flowers  ; 
Gratitude  and  love  unended, 

Should  possess  these  hearts  of  ours. 
Though  by  death  our  songs  and  laughter, 

May  be  silenced,  or  subdued, 
Faith's  sweet  voice  will  echo  after, 

And  our  souls  be  angel-hued. 


ELLEN    CLEMENTINE    HOWAETH. 

I  SAW  thee  in  thy  quiet  home, 
With  bright-eyed  children  round  thy  knee  ; 
I,  but  a  stranger  who  had  come, 

Charmed  by  thy  wondrous  minstrelsy. 
Oh  mother,  poet,  child  of  song  ! 

Was  it  a  seraph's  wing  that  stirred 
Some  unseen  harp,  by  angels  strung, 

And  thrilled  me  with  each  quivering  chord  ? 

And  sitting  where  the  morning  air, 

Went  drifting  through  the  casement  low, 
Lifting  the  light  waves  of  thy  hair, 

From  off  thy  thoughtful,  poet-brow, 
I  praised  the  Father  that  to  thee 

A  richer  wealth  than  gold  was  given  ; 
The  matchless  gift  of  poesy, 

From  the  exhaustless  hand  of  Heaven  ! 


ELLEN   CLEMENTINE  HO  WAR  TIL  45 

And  which  is  stronger,  which  more  blest, 

The  mother — or  the  poet-heart  ? 
Which  brings  thee  more  of  peace  and  rest, 

Which  most  of  woman's  joys  impart  ? 
What  makes  thy  face  so  patient  now, 

Oh  sister  !  wearied,  overtasked  ? 
These  questions  still  keep  ebb  and  flow, 

Unanswered  questions,  and  unasked. 

J  never  knew  the  holy  bliss 

Of  baby  lips  upon  my  breast  ; 
Or  gave  a  mother's  thrilling  kiss  ; 

Or  hushed  with  prayer  my  child  to  rest ! 
Thou  hast  been  nearer  to  the  Christ, 

Who  blessed  the  mother  on  the  cross  ; 
For  mother-love,  like  some  high-priest, 

Will  save  when  fierce  temptations  toss. 

Sister  of  song  !  from  far  I  roam 

To  hold  thy  friendly  hand  in  mine, 
As  other,  nobler  bards  have  come, 

Who  longed  to  see  that  face  of  thine. 
I  only  worship,  bending  low 


46  ELLEN    CLEMENTINE   HOWARTH. 

At  Genius'  feet,  with  poesy  thrilled  ; 
With  famished  heart  and  aching  brow, 
And  longings  that  will  ne'er  be  stilled. 

For  humbler  are  the  songs  I  sing 

Than  the  bright  offerings  of  thy  soul ; 
My  muse  is  like  the  broken  wing 

Of  some  tired  bird,  beyond  control — 
That  gives,  oft-times,  a  saddened  tune, 

That  rhymes  up  faintly,  e'en  as  now 
While  thinking  of  that  day  in  June 

When  first  I  kissed  thy  cheek  and  brow. 


AT  EVENING. 

OH,  had  we  met,  had  we  met  before  ! 
When  our  lives  were  young,  and  our  spirits 

brave, 
And  our  hopeful  barks  so  near  the  shore 

That  we  heard   its  songs   on   each   answering 

wave ! 
They  are  far  off  now,  those  isles  of  green — 

Aback  in  the  moaning  sea  of  years ; 
Time's  billows  toss  and  roll  between ; 

We  can  scarcely  see  for  our  blinding  tears  ! 

Why  do  we  sigh,  and  why  regret, 

For  the  joys  we  missed  in  the  long  ago  ? 
There  are  greener  isles  in  the  distance  yet — 

Our  feet  e'en  touch  their  bright  shores  now. 
Oh,  say,  ye  waves  that  our  souls  have  crossed, 

Ye  deep,  deep  seas  of  Doubt  and  Pain, 
Though  ye  bring  not  back  the  years  we've  lost, 

Will  ye  waft  us  safe  to  Peace  again  ? 

47 


48  AT  EVENING. 

We  have  waited  long,  we  have  suffered  much, 

We  have  yearned  for  love  till  our  hearts  are 

sad ; 
The  flowers  we  nursed  with  tenderest  touch, 

Were  first  to  droop,  and  die,  and  fade. 
Then  drift  us  out  to  the  shores  of  Rest, 

As  the  night  comes   down,  and   the    daylight 

dies, 
As  the  autumn  sunset  gilds  the  west, 

And  beautifies  the  twilight  skies. 


WAITING. 

HE  has  not  come  !  all  vainly  I  have  waited  ; 
First  with  a  flush  of  hope  and  quiet  joy  ; 
Then  with  a  fevered  heartbeat,  almost  fainted 
With  blended  fear  and  anxious  pain's  alloy. 

He  has  not  come  !  the  night  is  growing  dreary, 
And  clouds  shut  out  each  bright  and  glowing 
star  ; 

The  winds  of  autumn  sing  a  song  so  weary, 
As  grieving  for  some  wandering  soul  afar. 

I  hear  the  footfalls  of  departing  summer, 
Instead  of  coming  footsteps  that  I  love  ; 

My  heart  responds  its  sad,  regretful  murmur, 
And  mocks  the  darkness  of  the  clouds  above  1 

He  has  not  come !  oh,  whither  is  he  roaming? 

I  sit  alone  amid  the  night's  alarms; 
Ee  still,  oh,  longing  heart !  he  yet  is  coming, 

I  shall  find  rest  within  his  sheltering  arms. 

49 


50  WAITING. 

"  He  yet  will  come !"  the  weary  wind  keeps  sigh- 
ing ; 

"  He  yet  will  come  !"    I  hear  it  whisper  now  ; 
And  yet  the  weary,  weary  night  is  dying, 

And  chills  like  death  are  on  my  heart  and  brow. 

He  has  not  come  !  the  light  is  slowly  creeping 
With  rosy  beauty  on  the  eastern  sky ; 

The  royal  autumn  her  great  feast  is  keeping, 
And  yet  I  watch,  and  wait,  and  trust,  and  die/ 


YOU   AND   ME. 

AND  I  am  loved  !  oh,  how  delightful  is  it 
To  know  a  heart  beats  fondly  with  mine 

own  ; 

Oh,  there  is  naught  on  earth  half  so  exquisite 
As  when  two  lives  seem  blending  into  one  ! 

Life  has  to  me  no  thought  of  ill  or  sorrow; 
No  sadness  tinges  o'er  my  dreamy  hours  ; 
No  darkness  shades  the  thought  of  coming  mor- 
row, 

But  paths  of  sunshine  wreathed  with  beauteous 
flowers. 

Break  not  the  spell !  oh,  let  its  brightness  linger, 
And  if  I  only  dream,  waken  me  not ! 

For  over  all  my  soul  Love's  silent  finger 
Is  tracing  life  without  one  darkened  spot, 

51 


52  YOU  AND    ME. 

Life  were  all  bliss,  though  all  the  world  forget  me, 
If  thou  still  love  me,  still  art  all  mine  own  ; 

A  band  of  angels  led  me  where  I  met  thee, 
And  bound  our  hearts  forever  into  one  ! 


A  CHEISTMAS  EHYME. 

WAS  it  the  song  of  the  murmuring  pines 
That  came  to  me  with  a  mournful  sound, 
Or  the  restless  wail  of -the  crying  stream, 

That  wildly  ran  through  the  vale  beyond  ? 
Was  it  the  strain  of  a  weary  bird 

That  its  mates  had  left  in  our  wintry  clime, 
With  its  breast  a-tremble,  and  plumage  stirred, 
Like  a  human  heart  by  a  poet's  rhyme  ? 

I  know  that  the  morning  light  was  clear, 

And  the  light  wind  touched  my  tear-stained 

face, 
As  in  dreams  we  kiss  the  face  most  dear — 

Or  swung  the  willows  with  tender  grace, 
And  played  with  the  leaves  that  lay  all  dry 

On  the  hedge  rows  sear,  where  the  violets  sleep, 
But  it  all  seemed  dark  as  a  winter  sky, 

And  I  hid  my  face  from  it  all  to  weep. 

4  53 


54  A    CHRISTMAS    EHYME. 

There  seemed  no  rest,  though  the  world  was  bright, 

With  the  Autumn  prime  of   these   Christmas 

days, 
And  I  only  saw  on  the  hills  of  light, 

The  purple  Autumn's  gathering  haze. 
I  only  thought  of  a  bright  young  face 

Pressed  down  so  close  'neath  the  coffin-lid, 
Who  lies  so  still  in  the  burial  place, 

From  our  voiceless  longings  always  hid. 

So  the  stream  sings  on  in  its  sorrowing  rhyme, 

With  the  homeless  wind  in.  the  fragrant  pines, 
And  mingles  with  the  Christmas  chime, 

While  the  shadows  creep  into  lengthened  lines, 
And  waves  lie  deep  in  the  sea  of  years, 

Since  the  "  Song  of  Peace  "    on  Bethlehem's 

plain  ; 
And  a  heart-break  fills  niy  eyes  with  tears, 

For  the  lost  who  ne'er  comes  back  again.. 


TKUSTS. 

WHERE  is  the  faith  of  early  years, 
That  beamed  with  such  a  holy  light  ? 
All  faded  out  'raid  shade  and  tears, 

To  darkle  in  a  world  of  night ; 
Alas,  that  we  should  ever  know 

The  loss  of  life's  most  precious  gem  ; 
That  Doubt's  dark  stream  keeps  ebb  and  flow, 
And  we  its  fearful  tide  must  stem  ! 

As  music  in  the  distance  far 

Floats  out,  and  'mid  its  sweetness  dies ; 
As  melts  the  brightest  shining  star, 

At  rosy  dawn  along  the  skies; — 
As  on  the  petals  of  a  flower, 

The  rain- drops  nestle  down  to-day, 
To  vanish  ere  the  noontide  hour — 

So  fade  our  heart's  fresh  trusts  away ! 


56  TRUSTS. 

There  is  a  flower  that  blooms  unseen, 

A  star  whose  beams  of  glorious  light 
Shine  on  with  changeless  raj  serene, 

To  guide  us  through  life's  darkest  night ; 
And  there  is  music,  whose  soft  tones 

Are  not  confined  to  ears  of  dust, 
That  cheer  and  bless  earth's  weary  ones — 

That  flower,  star,  music  :  Heavenly  Trust ! 


ONE    MOKE    POET. 

MY  heart    stood   still   amid    the  gathering 
twilight 

Of  this  spring  day,  so  full  of  bud  and  bloom  ; 
Its  glory  and  its  beauty  quickly  closing, 
With  the  sad  tidings  of  thine  early  tomb. 

And  is  it  so,  alas!  thy  life  all  broken, 

Thy  mournful  harp  forevermore  unstrung  ? 

One  more  gone  out  to  that  mysterious  country, 
With  whom  so  long  my  fainter  lips  have  sung  ? 

One  more  gone  out  to  join  the  dear  departed 
Who  left  us  trembling  in  the  long  ago  ; 

One  less  to  struggle  with  life's  pain  and  fever, 
One  less  to  learn  life's  weary  lesson  through. 

Year  after  year  thy  well-known  name  was  gath- 
ered 

57 


58  ONE  MORE  POET. 

Upon  the  rhymer's  page,  beside  mine  own, 
And  I  have  hoped  with  mortal  eyes  to  see  thee, 
And  catch  the  music  of  some  poet-tone. 

But  now,  alas  !  unknown,  unknown  forever, 
Save  in  the  world  of  song,  we  two  shall  be  ; 

Meeting,  perchance,  in  the  eternal  city, 

Both  having  crossed  the  strange  and  dreadful 
sea. 

And  so  the  tears  fall  for  thee,  stranger  poet — 
That   life    went   out   with   thee  in  manhood's 
spring, 

And  chilly  shadows  over  all  are  creeping, 
Dimming  the  beauty  of  each  glorious  thing ! 


OVERTASKED. 

IS  this  the  glory  crowning  all  my  toil, 
These  throbbing  temples,  and  this  weary  brain? 
Have  sleepless  hours  spent  o'er  the  "  midnight  oil," 
But  wrought  for  this  low  brow  a  wreath  of  pain  ? 

Is  he  not  happier  who  with  careless  heart, 

And  brain  unwearied,  hears  the  songs  I  sing  ? 

Who  knows  no  yearning  for  sweet  Poesy's  art ; 
Who  never  tasted  from  ambition's  spring  ? 

Oh,  soul  immortal,  crying  after  God, 

Lifting  thine  unfledged  wings  in  vain,  in  vain  ! 

Oh,  thoughts  unuttered,  classic  paths  untrod ! 
Oh,  heart  o'erburthened  with  an  "unsung  strain  1 

Oh,  life  too  swift  to  quench  the  burning  thirst ! 

Oh,  veil  too  thin  to  keep  the  spirit  masked ! 
Sweet  fount  of  peace,  from  vales  of  beauty  burst, 

And  bless  the  heart>  and  brain,  the  overtasked 

59 


A    PROPHECY. 

IF  I  have  loved  thee  more  than  heaven, 
And  breathed  thy  name  instead  of  prayer, 
And  all  life's  fullest  joy  have  given 

With  holiest  keeping  to  thy  care  ; 
Remember,  dear,  I  ne'er  forget 

A  woman's  glorious,  royal  right, 
A  power  inherent  God  hath  set 

To  guard  her  from  deception's  blight ; 
And  though  in  agony  and  pain, 

She  finds  her  dearest  hope  is  gone, 
And  like  her  Master  on  the  plain 

She  weeps,  forsaken  and  alone — 
It  will  be  only  for  a  night. 

The  soul  in  lonely  darkness  cast  ; 
And  she  will  rise  with  morning  light, 

And  claim  her  victory  at  last : 

And  what  for  thee  can  expiate  ? 

To  steal  the  jewels  from  God's  crown 
60 


A  PROPHECY.  61 

And  give  them  then,  'twould  be  too  late 

To  purchase  what  was  once  thine  own ; 
For  only  once  to  man  is  given 

A  love  as  passionate  as  mine  ; 
It  will  not,  when  once  rudely  riven, 

Around  his  heart  again  entwine  ! 
Thine  eyes  will  weep,  thy  heart  will  bleed, 

Thy  feet  will  walk  alone  again  ; 
And  bitterly  thy  soul  will  plead 

For  the  lost  love,  in  vain,  in  vain  1 


A  BIRTHDAY  SONG. 

MY  heart  is  full  of  sobs  to-day, 
Its  music  all  is  hushed ; 
And  on  the  opening  doors  of  May, 
Life's  blossoms  all  lie  crushed. 

The  light  that  shone  with  April's  dawn, 

Has  faded  out  and  died ; 
Love  with  it,  like  a  phantom  gone, 

And  left  me  crucified ! 

No  evening  prayer,  no  morning  psalm, 

No  whisperings  of  rest, 
No  resurrection  hope,  no  calm 

Float  through  my  restless  breast. 

My  baffled  life  stands  out  alone 

Amid  the  shadows  dim ; 
With  quivering  pain,  and  stifled  moan, 

I  hear  Love's  funeral  hymn. 
62 


A  BIRTHDAY  SONG. 

JTis  perished,  gone !  the  happy  dream 
Of  trust,  and  joy,  and  light ! 

And  May's  sweet  voices  only  seem 
To  mock  my  soul's  deep  night. 


THE   DEAE    EYES. 


*"\  ~\  7"^  *k  ^ie  sm^e  °^  ^e  same  dear  eyes> 

V  V      That  warmed  my  heart  with   a    tender 

glow  ? 

A  love-light  sent  from  the  olden  ties, 
To  draw  me  back  to  the  long  ago  ? 

Oh,  sad  was  the  day,  though  bright  and  fair, 
The  golden  sunshine  drifted  down, 

In  floods  of  glory  everywhere, 

O'er  autumn  woods,  and  hillsides  brown, 

When  I  saw  the  eyes,  so  like  to  thine  — 
By  thin,  long,  dark,  heavy  lashes  hid  ; 

And  the  tears  fell  fast  and  thick  from  mine, 
As  they  shut  them  down  'neath  the  coffin-lid- 

So  I  gaze  to-day  on  thy  stranger  face, 

With  a  beating  heart,  and  an  inward  moan  ; 
For  I  see  in  thee  a  startling  trace 

Of  the  face  I  loved  in  the  days  agone. 
64 


THE   DEAR  EYES.  65 

I  know  full  well  they  are  not  for  me, 
The  smiles  that  ripple  around  thine  eyes — 

Like  the  dancing  waves  of  the  midnight  sea, 
'Twixt  its  wondrous  depths,  and  the  starry  skies. 

It  is  a  dream — only  a  dream 

That  I  bathe  my  hands  in  his  clustering  hair  ? 
Just  for  a  moment,  oh,  let  me  seem 

To  press  my  lips  on  the  brow  so  fair  ! 

For  they  haunt  me  now,  those  wondrous  ey.es  ! 

With  their  light  and  shade,  and  their  tender 

glow; 
Speak  to  me,  Sweet !  from  the  far-off  skies, 

Ere  my  heart  shall  break  with  its  overflow. 


THE    CHILD'S    PEAYEE. 

SHE  folded  up  her  little  hands 
Upon  her  mother's  knee ; 
Who  parted  back  her  golden  hair — 
A  picture  fair  to  see ! 

And  then  with  upturned  cherub  face, 
She  breathed  her  simple  prayer  ; 

Methought  in  every  silent  space 
An  angel  lingered  there. 

And  round  her  peerless  form  there  shone 

A  stream  of  holy  light ; 
Like  rays  that  light  the  Eden-land, 

"  Where  there  is  no  more  night." 

That  vesper  hour !    that  vesper  hour 

I  never  shall  forget  ! 
And  though  long  years  have  fled  away, 

It  lingers  with  me  yet. 


THE    CHILD' 8   PRAYER.  67 

That  kneeling  form,  that  angel  voice, 

That  mother  sweet  and  mild ! 
I  see  them,  and  as  then,  I  wish 
I  were  a  sinless  child. 


HEMLOCK    GEOVE. 

ONCE    more  I    stand    within    this    shaded 
temple, 

"Where  long  ago  my  restless  footsteps  strayed, 
When  youth,  and  hope,  and  dreams  around  my 

heartstrings 
A  siren  song  of  sweetest  music  played. 

I  come  to-day  with  steps  grown  slow  and  weary, 
With  longings  after  those  I  loved  before ; 

With  life  so  real,  crushing  all  the  music 
That  lingers  from  the  memories  of  yore. 

As  in  the  olden-time,  the  birds  are  singing 
A  song  of  welcome,  in  their  towers  of  green  ; 

And  sounds  of  laughter  through  the  dim  aisles 

echo, 
And  sunshine  filters  down  its  golden  sheen. 

We  walk  through  purple  shades  to  love  the  sun- 
shine 

68 


HEMLOCK    GROVE.  69 

That   the  dear  Hand   drops   down   along  our 

way; 

Life  is  not  starless,  though  the  night  be  dreary, 
Though  we  may  seem  in  vain  to  "  watch  and 
pray." 

Each  Spring  may  decorate  this  temple  newly, 
While  I  grow  fainter  in  my  earthly  strength  ; 

But  the  sweet  life  of  heaven's  unfading  beauty, 
Will   be    mine    own,  mine   own !     I  know,  at 
length  I 


THE  MAGDALEN. 

IT  hangs  upon  my  chamber  wall, 
That  sweet,  sweet  face,  with  tearful  eyes, 
And  pensive  brow,  where  shadows  fall, 
And  dreamy  thought  in  beauty  lies. 

No  meek-eyed  Mary  ever  bore 

A  fairer  face  than  this,  to  me  ; 
No  face  can  ever  charm  me  more 

Than  this,  which  pleads  so  silently. 

With  folded  hands  and  breathless  heart, 
I  stand  when  life  is  dark,  and  gaze  ; 

And  tears  which  blind  me  quickly  start ; 
And  I  grow  strong  for  all  life's  ways. 

These  deep,  deep  eyes,  so  full  of 'prayer, 

So  full  of  holy  light  and  faith  ! 
These  lips  which  whisper  to  mine  ear 
Of  victory  over  life,  and  death  1 
70 


THE  MAGDALEN.  1\ 

For  thou  hast  suffered  much  sad  one  ; 

And  thou  hast  sinned,  and  been  forgiven  ; 
The   dear  Christ  loved  thee  through    earth'n 
scorn, 

And  thou  at  last  art  safe  for  heaven. 

So  may  this  ever  pleading  face, 

Uplifted  to  the  Crucified, 
Teach  me  each  hour  that  heavenly  grace 

Of  charity,  that  masters  pride ! 


A   SONG. 

not  a  song  that  trembles 
•A.    Around  my  heart  to-night, 
But  thrills  with  untold  gladness, 

And  eloquent  delight ; 
For  I  have  cast  the  shadows 

Of  sorrow  all  aside, 
To  let  Hope's  joyous  music 
Through  all  my  being  glide. 

And  there  is  not  a  tear-stain 

Upon  mine  eyelids  now, 
Nor  yet  a  shade  that  ruffles 

The  spirit's  merry  flow  ; 
Life  seemeth,  O,  so  joyous, 

So  blithesome  and  so  bright, 
Like  some  sweet  dream  of  summer 

That  haunts  a  winter's  night. 
72 


A  SONG.  73 


Like  rosy  childhood  playing 

Among  the  early  flowers, 
My  happy  heart  is  straying 

On  golden-footed  hours; 
And  if  I'm  only  dreaming 

When  I  my  ills  forget, 
Break  not  the  blissful  seeming™ 

Oh,  do  not  wake  me  yet  1 


MAY-TIME. 

MY  heart  goes  Maying,  and  I  gather  flowers 
Of  hope,  and  love,  and  joy,  dear  one,  for 

thee  ; 
As  through  earth's  paths  my  restless  feet   are 

straying, 
With  the  bright  thought  of  what  thou  art  to  me. 

And  the  one  prayer  that  on  my  lips  is  breathing, 
That  fills  my  fullest  heart,  and  life,  to-day, 

That  these  sweet  flowers  that  life's  glad  May  is 

wreathing, 
May  twine  around  my  heart  and  thine  alway, 

And  when  creeps  on  the  chill  of  life's  December, 
May  Love's  sweet  flowers  still  bloom  fresh  as 

now, 

And  holy  joy  increase  as  we  remember 
The  days  so  beautiful  of  long  ago. 
74 


HUNGRY    AND    TIBED. 

rriHEY  will  not  come,  the  words  to  break  the 
JL       stillness 
Of  the  faint  heart  that  waits,  and  droops,  and 

dies! 
Silence  forever  folds  her  untold  dullness 

Through  all  her  crushed  and  broken  harmo- 
nies. 

They  will   not   come !    oh,  perished  heart,  that 
waited, 

With  all  thy  longings,  and  thy  cries  in  vain  ! 
Thou  art  like  winter  birds  that  moan  unrnated ; 

Amid  the  autumn  leaves  and  winter  rain. 

They  will  not  come !    the  trust  and  the  believ- 
ing ; 

Love's  sweetest  music,  and  the  balm  of  Best ! 
For   wlren   Hope's   wreath   is   brightest   in  the 

weaving, 

She  drops  the  flowers  that  we  love  the  best. 

rs 


Vii  UUKQRY   AND    TIRED. 

'ibey  will  not   come!    the  food   the   gods  have 
tasted, 

The  rest  that  mortals  long  to  feel  and  know  ; 
Oh  !  are  these  blessings  given,  lost,  and  wasted  ? 

Or  do  we  only  dream  they  come  below  ? 

Hungry  and  tired  !  how  the  sentence  presses 
Down  on  the  heart,  like  marble  on  the  grave  ! 

They  will  not  come !    the   Love  that  saves  and 

blesses, 
The  Best  from  all  life's  weariness  I  crave ! 


LIFE-TIME. 

DEEAE  winter  follows  summer  hours ; 
And  after  day,  the  night  ; 
The  brightest  birds  in  woodland  bowers 

Sit  plumed  for  speedy  flight ; 
The  music  that  we  love  the  best 

Has  sadness  in  its  tone  ; 
And  moments  that  were  happiest, 
On  fleetest  wings  have  flown. 

Oh,  time !  there's  nought  to  satisfy 

The  soul,  in  all  thy  gifts  ; 
As  thy  rough  waves  go  fleeting  by, 

And  man  upon  them  drifts. 
We  sorrow,  love,  we  hope,  and  die, 

"  Eeturn  to  God  who  gave," 
And  what  remains  of  you,  and  I  ? 

A  faded  dream,  a  grave  ! 

77 


H 


IN    THE    SUNSHINE. 

AVE  shining  angels  left  for  us 
Their  footprints  on  the  meadows? 
Left  us  awhile 
Their  sunny  smile 
To  glad  this  world  of  shadows  ? 


These  sunbeams  give  the  heart  a  thrill, 
Like  songs  of  hope  and  beauty ; 
And  in  their  gleam 
We  fondly  dream 
Earth  has  no  irksome  duty. 

They  seem,  like  friendship,  bright  and  true, 
Man's  choicest  earthly  blessing — 
Like  each  fond  word, 
So  gladly  heard, 
Of  Love's  first  low  confessing, 
78 


IN  THE  SUNSHINE.  79 

Dance  on,  bright  sunbeams,  gaily  dance, 
O'er  mountain,  wood,  and  river ! 

Dance  to  the  breeze 

That  rocks  the  trees 
With  trembling  music  ever! 

All  this  long  summer  afternoon 

I've  watched  thy  phantom  fingers 

Trace  everywhere 

A  picture  fair 
That  in  my  memory  lingers  ! 

Fold  up  thy  net- work,  golden  Sun ! 
And  call  each  sunbeam  thither ; 

The  summer  day 

Has  passed  away, 
Grey  twilight's  on  the  heather  1 


"  BYE-BYE." 

B  EIGHT  eyes  will  watch  at  the  window, 
And  dinner  will  wait  till  I  come  ; 
Tis  time  now  to  leave  you,  darling, 
I  hate  to — and  hasten  home. 

My  wife  don't  bore  me  with  questions, 
That's  one  lucky  thing  on  my  side  ; 

She  says  that  she  trusts  me  truly, 
As  when  she  was  first  my  bride. 

"  Do  I  love  her  ?"     Well— after  a  fashion, 
Yes  ;    she  is  the  mother,  you  know, 

Of  my  two  beautiful  babies, 
And  two  who  lie  under  the  snow. 

"  Pretty  ?"     Not  very  ;    she's  faded, 

There's  gray  in  her  ringlets  of  gold  ; 
She  grieves  for  the  children,  and  sickness 

Has  made  her  look  sadder  and  old. 
80 


"BY&BYK"  81 

Deuce  take  it !    a  man  can't  be  bothered 

With  family  ties  all  the  time  ! 
She  never  was  half  so  bewitching 

As  you,  sweet,  e'en  in  her  prime. 

But  kiss  me  good-bye,  love.    What !  pouting  ? 

What !  jealous  of  my  little  wife, 
Who  busy  at  home  in  the  kitchen, 

Is  not  half  so  dear  to  my  life ! 

I  kiss  off  the  tears  from  your  eyelids — 
Loved  eyes  of  such  heavenly  blue ! 

Oh,  trust  me,  believe  me  forever, 
My  dearest !  /  love  only  you! 

"  Bye-bye  !"     Oh,  I  almost  forgot  it — 
Here's  a  hundred,  my  birdie,  my  pet, 

Get  the  lace  that  you  liked  so  at  Stewart's, 
And  be  ready  at  eight — don't  forget. 


VIOLETS    IN   NOVEMBER. 

WHAT  are  you  doing  out  here  in  the  cold, 
Beautiful  azure-eyed  children  of  Spring? 
Wandering  and  lost,  like  lambs  from  the  fold  ? 
Or  have  you  some  message  of  wisdom  to  bring? 

The  world  is  too  blighting,  frosty  and  chill, 
For  delicate  life  and  bloom  such  as  yours  ; 

The  death  dews  of  Autumn  each  chalice  will  fill ; 
No  beauty  so  frail  its  poison  endures. 

Sweet  innocent  Violets,  over  the  world  ! 

With  hearts  full    of    yearning    freshness    and 

bloom ; 

Oh,  better  by  far,  than  to  stray  from  the  fold, 
Shut  your  sorrowful  eyes,  and  lay  down  in  the 

tomb  1 
82 


BY    THE    SEA. 

ALL  day  long  the  changeful  sea, 
Sings,  and  moans,  and  talks  to  me ; 
Art  thou  crying  to  the  shore, 
For  some  joy  that  conies  no  more  ? 
What  are  all  the  wondrous  things 
Bound  up  in  thy  whisperinge  ? 
Is  there  passion  yet  untold 
For  this  hungry,  famished  world, 
That  would  fill  our  human  need, 
That  would  be  the  spirit's  meed  ? 
Are  thy  bright  waves,  fringed  with  light, 
Singing  of  that  home  more  bright, 
Than  this  darkened  earth  can  be, 
Where  there  shall  be  no  more  sea  "? 
Art  thou  wailing  in  despair, 
That  thou  hast  no  entrance  there  ? 
Must  thou  vanish  quite  away, 
Sea  !  so  beautiful  to-day  ? 

S3 


84  BY  THE  SEA. 

E'en  the  bird  that  dips  his  wings, 
Flying  landward,  sadly  sings 
As  if  he  had  caught  a  strain 
Full  of  sorrow  and  of  pain. 
From  amid  thy  coral  caves, 
Or  thy  silver-crested  waves  ; 
From  thy  billows,  wide  and  deep, 
Where  the  dear  dead  lie  asleep  ; 
Comes  there  never  a  reply, 
All  is  'witching  mystery  ! 

When  my  mortal  pain  is  gone, 
When  I  lay  life's  crosses  down, 
And  I  reach  the  eternal  shore, 
Shall  I  talk  with  thee  no  more  ? 
O,  in  heaven,  beloved  sea, 
I  shall  sigh,  and  pine  for  thee  ! 

So  they  come  in  troops  to-night, 
Like  the  stars  in  yonder  height- 
Questions  full  of  wild  unrest, 
By  no  faintest  answer  blest, 
But  amid  thy  moaning  shells 
Mystery  forever  dwells. 


THE  EHYME  OF  AN  AUTUMN  DAY. 

THE  maples  are  hanging  their  banners 
Of  crimson,  and  brown,  and  gold  ; 
And  I  weep,  oh  beautiful  summer, 

To  hear  thy  requiem  tolled  ! 
The  gentlest,  tenderest  summer — 

The  saddest  of  all  my  life ! 
The  sweetest  with  dear  home-quiet ; 
The  saddest  with  distant  strife. 

I  hurry  away  from  the  city, 

Whose  dusty,  noisy  street, 
Is  crowded  from  morn  till  even, 

With  hurrying  weary  feet ; 
Away  to  the  woods  whose  silence 

Broods  o'er  the  lulling  streams  ; 
Away  where  a  thousand  poems 

Float  through  my  restless  dreams. 

6  85 


86  AN  A  UTUMN  DA  Y. 

Oh  summer,  of  all  most  real, 

Alas,  thou  hast  brought  no  rest ; 
And  fear  like  a  cold  hand  presses 

So  heavily  on  my  breast ; 
I  hear  the  tramp  of  the  army, 

Borne  on  the  breeze  to-day  : 
Humanity's  cry  comes  wailing  ; 

I  only  can  weep,  and  pray. 

Oh  woman,  so  sad  and  helpless  ! 

What  can  thy  mission  be  here  ? 
To  know  of  the  wide  world's  sorrow, 

To  suffer,  to  weep,  and  to  bear? 
To  strive  for  the  beautiful  heaven, 

Forgetting  her  heaviest  loss  ? 
To  kiss  the  thorns  that  pierce  her, 

And  silently  bear  her  cross  ? 


OUE    LIZZIE. 

AS  a  birdling  flies  from  its  nest  away 
To  a  South-land  bright  with  blooms  ; 
Or  the  brilliant  clouds  of  a  summer  day 

Melt  when  the  evening  comes  ; 
Or,  as  the  gentlest  rose-leaf's  fall, 

When  touched  by  the  frost's  chill  breath— 
So  answered  she  thy  meaning  call, 
Oh,  stern,  relentless  Death  ! 

I  remember  well  her  warbling  tones, 

Which  my  inmost  heart  has  thrilled  ; 
Now  the  harp-strings  loosed,  and  the   minstrel 
gone, 

And  the  pale  hands  cold  and  stilled  ! 
Yet  the  music  floats  on  the  summer  air, 

As  I  sit  'neath  the  white  June  moon, 
And  dream  of  a  maiden  young  and  fair, 

And  weep  that  she  sleeps  so  soon. 

87 


88  OUR  LIZZIE. 

Oh,  the  young,  the  good,  the  gifted,  all 

That  best  we  love,  must  die ! 
The  flowers  wreathe  out  their  trembling  pall — 

Winds  chant  their  litany  ; 
But  the  angels  sing  when  the  good  of  earth 

Lie  down  in  their  graves  to  sleep  ; 
And  they  strike  their  harps  for  another  birth, 

In  the  land  where  they  never  weep. 

Oh,  Comforting  Hand,  that  heals  the  heart ! — 

Thou,  who  alone  hast  power  !— 
The  sweetness  of  Thy  love  impart 

In  this  afflictive  hour  ; 
And  round  that  lonely  home  now  throw 

A  light  from  heaven  divine, 
And  mingle  with  the  tears  and  woe, 

The  words :  Lord,  she  was  Thine ! 


LINES. 

GO  while  the  star  of  Hope  is  shining, 
So  brightly  on  the  flowers  that  strew  thy 
way; 
Go,  on  thy  bended  knees  reclining, 

And  lift  thy  happy  heart  to  Heaven,  and  pray. 

Go  when  Hope's  star  is  almost  clouded, 
And    adverse    winds   have   borne    the  flowers 
away ; 

When  all  thy  life  with  gloom  is  shrouded, 
Go,  'tis  the  happiest  time  for  thee  to  pray  ! 

Go  when  the  friends  you  deem  the  truest, 

Shall  chill  the  heart  where   love   has  held  its 

sway  ; 

And,  when  the  friends  of  earth  seem  fewest, 
Thou  hast  a  friend  in  Heaven,  go  thou,  and 
pray. 


90  LINES. 

Go  when  disease  shall  make  life  weary, 

And  sombre  clouds  hide  every  lingering  ray  ; 

Go,  there  is  rest  for  all  the  weary, 
For  this,  thy  promised  rest,  go  thou,  and  pray, 


SYMPATHY. 

NOT  all  the  purest  joy  is  given 
To  those  who  love,  are  loved  again, 
Till  sorrow  clouds  our  earthly  heaven, 
And  sympathy  gives  rest  to  pain. 

She  never  sleeps !  her  watchful  eye 
Sees  every  heart  that  aches  or  bleeds ; 

She  hears  the  mourner's  lowest  sigh, 
She  feels  and  knows  our  greatest  needs. 

She  comes  in  silence,  when  our  hearts 
Can  bear  no  lightly  spoken  word  ; 

And  all  her  quiet  grace  imparts 

When  sorrow's  deepest  founts  are  stirred. 

On  aching  brows  she  lays  her  hand, 
Her  cool  soft  hand !  to  ease  our  pain  ; 

She  has  not  through  this  weary  land, 
Lit  up  her  starry  crown  in  vain. 

91 


THE    SAINTED    PICTUEE. 

MY  life  is  like  the  midnight  skies, 
Lit  by  the  radiance  of  thine  eyes  ; 
They  haunt  my  troubled  memories, 
Like  thoughts  that  purify  a  ad  bless, 
And  bring  us  peace  and  happiness  ; 
Like  prayers  which  make  us  strong  and  brave, 
That  sanctify,  and  soothe,  and  save  ; 
A  wealth  of  deathless  love  there  lies 
Beneath  thine  eyes — thy  wondrous  eyes  ! 

And  thou  wert  mine,  thou  poet-bird  ! 
Those  tender  lips,  though  never  stirred 
By  one  sweet  uttered  human  word 
That  I  shall  hear  on  earth  again, 
(For  thou  hast  passed  life's  broken  pain) 
In  trembling  music  yet  I  hear— 
Those  tender  lips — those  lips  so  dear  ! 


THE   SAINTED    PICTURE.  93 

I  know  the  harvest  moon  makes  light 
The  letters  of  thy  name  to-night, 
Upon  the  tablet  gleaming  white  ; 
That  tablet  standing  cold  and  stark, 
It  seems  to  me  so  false  and  dark ; 
For  in  this  silent  face  I  see 
The  fond  eyes  smile  again  on  me, 
As  if  in  living  constancy, 
To  guard  and  bless  me  till  I  die  ! 

Oh,  when  I  saw  thee  dead,  no  tear 
Dropped  on  the  white  flowers  of  thy  bier 
More  fraught  with  anguish  than  mine  own  ! 
My  selfish  heart  stood  all  alone  ; 
Thou  in  heaven's  morn,  I  in  earth's  night, 
Love  passing  with  thee  out  of  sight. 

But  looking  now  beyond  the  vail, 

And  hope  has  hushed  the  heart's  low  wail 

That  came  and  went  like  prayers  unsaid, 

"When  life  seems  crushed  and  words  are  dead, 

I  look  upon  this  sweet,  sweet  face, 

That  wears  its  old-time  love  and  grace, 


94  THE   SAINTED   PICTURE. 

And  feel  thou  art  forever  mine, 

By  all  on  earth,  by  all  divine  ; 

For  thou  hast  loved  me  once,  and  Heaven 

Will  never  take  the  gift  thus  given. 

This  picture,  which  I  press  to-day 

Close  to  my  lips,  close  to  my  heart, 

Heeds  not  the  tender  words  I  say, 

Nor  yet  the  tears  which  sometimes  start ; 

And  yet,  immortal  beauty  lies 

On  lips  and  brow  and  tender  eyes  ; 

And  as  the  meek  nun  kneels  at  eves 

Before  the  Virgin  at  her  shrine, 

My  soul  Love's  grandest  offering  leaves 

Before  this  sainted  face  of  thine. 


A  PLEA  FOE  THE  AGED. 

OH,  sweet  Compassion !  lead  and  bless 
The  aged  ones,  whose  weary  feet 
Have  wandered  long  life's  wilderness, 
To  reach  the  "City's  golden  street." 

Their  eyes  are  dimmed  by  many  tears; 

Their  hearts  with  sorrows  overflow ; 
The  burdens  of  the  sad,  slow  years, 

None  but  their  secret  hearts  may  know. 

Smile  softly  on  them,  Human  love, 
Speak  tenderly,  and  let  the  light 

Of  youthful  eyes  with  kindness  prove, 
That  they  are  precious  in  your  sight. 

95 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS. 

BING  me  arbutus  flowers  all  pale,  and  drip- 

ping, 
With   sweetness  from  the  dim  old  leaf-strewn 

aisles, 
Of  nature's  wild  cathedrals,  where  are  tripping 

Her  floral  fairies,  in  the  sunbeam's  smiles  ! 
Give  rne  these  pearly  gems,  these  waxen  flowers, 

Made  glorious  by  the  impress  of  our  God ; 
Whose   sweet   eyes   open   with  the  first  spring 

showers, 
That  bloomed  in  paths  my  early  childhood  trod. 

And  now  the  winter-king  is  softly  hushing 

Her  noisy  children,  and  the  songs  of  spring 
Come  like  glad  music  o'er  our  spirits  gushing, 

And  dewy  wreaths  of  hope  are  blossoming ! 
Yes,  bring  arbutus  flowers,  for  with  their  coming 

There  are  such  thoughts  of  dear  ones  in  the  sky, 
Who  'rnong  eternal  flowers  now  are  roaming, 

And  I  shall  gather  with  them  by  and  by. 
96 


TUBE   EOSES. 

GOD    sends   us    these   from  lands  we  know 
not  of, 

Pure  and  unsullied,  unperverted,  true ! 
Free  from  the  passion  of  our  human  love ; 
Our  hearts  are  safe  to  rest,  dear  flowers,  with 
you. 


We  lay  them  in  the  hands  of  those  most  dear ; 

On  the  white  bosoms  of  the  cherished  dead  ; 
Free  gift  for  all  life's  weary  children  here  ; 

God's  blessing  in  the  perfume  that  they  shed  1 


97 


NO  NIGHT. 

«    A    ND  there  shall  be  no  night,"   and  tears 

^jL     of  sorrow 

From  all  our  eyes  be  kindly  wiped  away ; 
No  day  made  dark  by  dread  of  coining  morrow  ; 

No  shadows  following  the  words  we  say. 

"  And  there  shall  be  no  sea !"    whose  ceaseless 
heaving 

Dashes  its  wild  waves  o'er  us,  uncontrolled  ; 
Each  swift-receding  wave  of  feeling  leaving 

An  added  wound  of  anguish  on  the  soul. 

And  "  there  shall  be  no  curse  1"   no   more    un- 
loving, 

No  weary  waiting  to  be  loved  again  ; 
No  broken  friendships,  such  as  life  is  proving — 
No  partings   sweet,   or  worse   than    hopeless 
pain. 


NO  NIGHT.  99 

Oh,  how  we  moan  for  the  dear  dead  that  left 
us 

In  the  glad  freshness  of  their  love's  clear  light  ; 
Oh,  how  we  cry  to  Him  who  hath  bereft  us, 

For  that  safe  home  that  has  no  sorrow's  night ! 

We  stretch  our  arms  in  vain  for  the  departed, 
Who  in  their  beauty  left  us,  and  passed  o'er 

The  silent  flood,  and  we  all  broken-hearted 
Standing  alone  upon  the  moaning  shore. 

No  night,  no  sea,  no  tears,  no  curse,  none  weary  ; 

Oh,  home  among  the  stars  1  oh,  home  so  blest ! 
We,  on  the  shore  of  life's  lone  stream  so  dreary, 

Wait  for  one  glimpse  of  thee,  our  home  of  rest. 

It  is  for  thee,  oh,  dark-robed  mourner,  crying 
Amid  thy  faded  hopes,  and  silent  graves  ; 

Though  you  may  hear  no  voice  of  peace  replying, 
He  that  hath  bruised  thee,  sanctifies  and  saves  1 


BEYOND. 

OFT  there  comes  in  midnight  dreams, 
Saint-like  voices,  low  and  hushed  ; 
Passionless  as  songs  of  streams, 

Which  the  morning  sky  has  flushed  ; 
And  I,  sitting  here  alone, 

Hear  sweet  voices  from  the  skies, 
Quivering  like  the  parted  tone 

Of  rich  music  ere  it  dies ; 
Feeding  the  immortal  springs 

Of  my  being  with  new  life, 
Hound  my  soul  a  halo  flings, 

Mingled  not  with  mortal  strife. 

E'en  the  future,  like  a  star, 
Trembling  in  the  middle  air — 

Draws  me  to  the  spheres  afar, 
Promising  a  welcome  there ; 

And  the  Past  is  like  a  dream, 

Shadowy  with  its  joy  and  woe ; 
100 


BEYOND. 

And  I  watch  the  silent  stream 
Unto  which  my  footsteps  go ; 

I  can  see  its  ebbless  tide, 
But  a  little  way  before, 

Where  my  weary  feet  will  glide 
When  the  march  of  life  is  o'er. 

i 


LEAVE    US    NOT    YET. 

LEAVE  us  not  yet,  oh,  Summer  !    bright  and 
glowing, 

With  all  thy  rapturous  dreams  of  love  and  hope  ; 
With  the  sweet  life  thy  fullness  is  bestowing, 
That  fills  with  sunshine  all  our  being  up. 

Leave  us  not  yet,  oh  Summer  pure  and  holy  ! 

Whose  rneek  eyes  gaze  on  me  from  'far  to-night ; 
Still  lead  us  on,  although  the  way  be  lowly, 

And  the  dim  tears  may  almost  cloud  our  sight. 

Leave  ns  not  yet,  oh  Summer,  golden-hearted  ! 

With  all  thy  song  and  beauty,  bud  and  bloom  ; 
Take  them  not  yet,  lest,  all  we  love  departed — 

We  sit  like  mourners  in  the  winter's  gloom. 

I  know  the  Autumn,  with  its  richer  beauty, 

Will  scatter  all  the  dreams  which    thou  hast 
brought ; 
102 


LEAVE  US  NOT  YET.  103 

And  the  drear  Winter,  with  its  sterner  duty, 
Will  bring  forgetfulness  which  thou  hast  not. 

But,  oh,  not  yet  dispel  these  holy  dreamings, 
That  seem  like  pearls  strung  from  the  dear, 
dear  Past, 

Broken,  alas  !  forever — they  were  only  seemings — 
Kolled  out  ungathered  in  the  dark  at  last ! 

So  we  who  journey  toward  the  great  white  heaven, 
Must  walk  with  shadows  creeping  by  our  side  ; 

However  hoping,  longing,  morn  and  even, 
For  the  sweet  days  so  tender,  that  have  died  1 


LINES  FOE  AN  ALBUM. 

ALINE  for  thine  album,  dear  Mary  ? 
Oh,  what  shall  I  write,  love,  for  thee, 
Whose  songs,  sweet  as  music  from  Eden — 

Have  been  so  delightful  to  me  ? 
Perhaps  there  has  never  a  shadow 

Crept  over  thy  breast,  gentle  girl, 
And  it  sleeps  in  its  own  olissful  dreamings, 
Unsullied  and  pure  as  a  pearl. 

And  perhaps  some  bright  angel  has  braided 

Thy  infancy,  childhood,  and  youth, 
In  love-wreaths  that  never  have  faded, 

Or  lost  the  sweet  freshness  of  truth  ; 
And  hours  like  the  sunbeams  have  parted, 

The  mist  that  hung  over  life's  ways, 
And  laughed  back  the  tears  when  they  started, 

And  led  thee  down  softly  life's  maze. 

104 


LINES  FOR    AN  ALBUM.  105 

I  would  thou  werfc  ever  as  joyous, 

As  happy  and  trusting  as  now, 
That  shadows  of  sorrow  lie  lightly 

Across  thy  young  innocent  brow ; 
But  more  do  I  wish  for  thee  ever, 

Calm  strength  for  thy  heart,  from  above, 
To  meet  with  life's  earnest  endeavor, 

Whatever  thy  future  may  prove. 


LEAVES. 

rriHEY  are  falling  slowing  over  the  world, 

A     Silent  and  sure  as  the  autumn  hours ! 
Dropping  away  to  a  fragrant  mould. 

And  fade  from  sight  like  summer's  flowers. 

They  are  floating  away  on  the  moaning  tide, 
Kissed  and  hidden  by  sighing  waves, 

Like  the  blessed  human  loves  that  died, 
Whose  lips  we've  touched  by  wayside  graves. 

We  are  summer  leaves !  we  are  fading  all  ; 

We  float  away  on  the  stream  of  time  ; 
Some  of  us  toss  on  the  storms  that  fall ; 

Some  float  off  like  a  summer  rhyme. 

They  are  dropping  slowly  over  the  world, 
Cherished  and  fond  ones,  great  and  small ; 
Only  a  tale  that  is  quickly  told, 
And  our  lips  are  mute  through  the  heart's  wild 

call! 
106 


UNBELOVED. 

"X7"ES,  it  is  over,  the  sweet  dream  is  ended  ! 

JL     Thy  heart  and  mine  are  more  than  strangers 

now  ; 
There  are  such  bitter  memories  with  it  blended, 

With  tearful  eyes  I  give  thee  back  thy  vow. 

Thou  canst  not  mate  with  one  whose  love  is  burn- 
ing 

Its  own  dear  idol  on  the  vestal  shrine  ; 
Whose  high  proud  heart  would  be  forever  turning 

To  life's  intensity  its  all,  like  mine. 

Thou  art  of  calmer  mould;  thine  eye  ne'er  bright- 
ens 

At  my  quick  footsteps,  though  we  rarely  meet ; 
Thy  hand  when  clasped  in  mine  ne'er  thrills,  and 

tightens — 
At  my  fond  words,  though  they  be  ne'er  so 

sweet. 

107 


108  VNBELOVED. 

Thou  ne'er  didst  love  me  !  how  this  thought  has 
chilled  me 

Like  the  cold  hand  of  iJeath  upon  the  brow  ; 
All  the  sweet  joy  that  in  the  old-time  thrilled  me, 

Has  lost  the  light  and  music  of  its  flow  ! 

The  eyes  that  watched  for  thee  are  vainly  weep- 
ing, 

Not  for  my  own  heart's  pain,  this  love  has  cost ; 
But  oh,   for.  thee,   when  thou  shalt  wake  from 

sleeping, 
And  seek  in  vain  the  treasure  thou  hast  lost. 

For  I  have  loved  thee  !  given  thee  sweetest  rhym- 

ings 
That    sing    unanswered    through   a   mortal's 

breast ; 

Now  they  have  melted  to  funereal  chimings, 
Yet  in  the  pain  of  loving  found  no  rest. 

Alas  for  human  hearts  that  are  forever  dying, 
With  watching,  waiting  for  love's  tender  words  ; 

Wasting  their  music  with  a  helpless  crying, 
Like  the  lost  carols  of  unmated  birds  ! 


THE  GIFT  OF  SONG. 

gift  of  song !  who  would  not  feel 
-L     The  thrilling  of  a  poet-heart  ? 
The  joy  where  angels  set  their  seal, 

The  fount  where  love  and  beauty  start ! 
I  have  not  that  delicious  art, 

To  trill  my  lyre  in  numbers  sweet, 
To  vibrate  softly  through  the  heart 
With  poesy  and  joy  replete. 

But  if  a  thousand  worlds  were  mine, 

And  all  more  brilliant  than  our  earth, 
The  gift  of  song  were  more  divine— 

I'd  give  them  to  possess  its  worth  ! 
Untaught  and  wild  the  songs  I  sing, 

No  genius  high  enstamps  my  brow  ; 
A  humble  votive  now  I  bring, 

A  wild  refrain,  breathed  soft  and  low. 

109 


110  THE  GIFT  OF  SONO. 

But  he  who  soars  a  heavenward  flight 

Through  the  green  bowers  of  poesy — 
That  paints  from  thence  Promethean  light, 

O'er  scenes  most  beautiful  to  me — 
Sends  to  my  heart  a  charm  divine ; 

And  in  life's  golden  chalice  pours 
Ambrosial  draughts,  'round  which  entwine 

Wreaths  everlasting,  fadeless  flowers ! 

The  moon  that  trembles  o'er  the  sea, 

The  winds  that  on  the  uplands  blow, 
The  flowers  that  blossom  on  the  lea, 

The  woods,  and  rocks,  the  brooklets  flow — 
With  gushing  beauty  fill  my  soul, 

With  joy  that  I  can  never  sing  ; 
My  longings  arc  beyond  control — 

A  tameless  bird  with  broken  wing ! 


WHY? 

DO  not  teach  my  heart  to  love  thee, 
With  thy  tender  words  and  tone  ; 
Turn  me  not  from  life's  endeavor ; 
Leave  me  with  my  cross  alone. 

On  the  sea  of  change  and  sorrow, 
Through  the  dark  I've  drifted  far, 

From  Love's  shores  of  human  sunshine, 
Clinging  to  life's  broken  spar. 

Why  recall  the  life  so  wasted, 
That  is  nearing  Peace  at  last ; 

That  has  learned  to  wait,  and  suffer, 
Reconciled  to  what  is  past? 

Why  call  back  the  longing  spirit 
To  those  flowery  shores  again ; 
Where  the  blossoms  fade  with  plucking, 

And  the  thorns  alone  remain? 
ill 


112  WHY? 


Teach,  oh,  teach  me  not  to  love  thee ; 

Turn  away  thy  searching  eyes ; 
Lest  they  win  me  with  their  beauty, 

From  the  fairness  of  the  skies. 


WILLIAM  RODERICK  LAWRENCE. 

WE  who  have  walked  life's  pleasant  vales 
together 

Must  now  walk  separate  paths,  and  far  apart ; 
Thy  feet  will  tread  on  fadeless  flowers  in  heaven  ; 
Mine   through    earth's  darkness  with  a  weary 
heart. 

And  I  shall  come  at  evening  when  the  shadows 
Are  gathering  over  scenes  to  both  so  dear  ; 

And  crushing  back  the  tears  of  unsub  mission, 
Breathe  out  wild  prayers  that  none  but  God 
will  hear. 

And  I  shall  gird  my  armor  for  life's  battle, 

For  earth's  rude  friction,  and  Death's  heaving 

sea ; 

For  over  all  thy  pale  hand  now  is  reaching, 
And  beckoning  like  an  angel  unto  me. 

113 


1U  WILLIAM  RODERICK  LAWRENCE. 

Sleep  while  the  red  light  of  the  autumn  waueth, 
And  drifts  her  clouds  of  gold  and  crimson  leaves ; 

Sleep  till  the  Resurrection  morn !  while  memory 
Her  deathless  wreath  around  our  spirit  weaves. 

Best  poet-friend !  thy  cool  soft  grave  is  guarded  ; 

An  angel  sitteth  o'er  the  fragrant  mold  ; 
Best,  weary  one  !  an  eye  above  thee  watcheth, 

That  never  sleeps,  nor  yet  forsakes  His  fold. 

And  shall  we  mourn  thee,  beautiful  departed, 
Whose  bright  barque  moved  so  noiselessly  from 
shore, 

Like  a  lit  sea-wave  that  a  zephyr  started, 

To  come  back  sighing  earthward  never-more  ? 

For  thee,  whose  earthly  songs  were  hushed  so  early, 
Whose  poet-harp  chimes  heavenly  music  now  ; 

Mourn  that  thy  feet,  grown  weary,  wandered  out- 
ward 
"  Into  green  pastures,  where  still  waters  flow  ?" 

Sigh  on,  ye  winds  of  autumn  !  sing  your  dirges  ; 
Like  a  wild  chant  ye  charm  my  spirit  now, 


WILLIAM  RODERICK  LAWRENCE.  115 

To   which   my  feet  grow  strong   and  firm  with 

marching 
Down  to  the  river's  edge,  toward  which  they  go. 

Peace,  restless  soul !  Faith  like  an  angel  bids  thee 

Wipe  off  the  baptism  of  eternal  tears  ; 
Lift  up  the  wings  that  sadly  droop  with  mourn- 
ing, 

And   wait   with   patience ;   God  holds   all  thy 
years  1 


OLD    MEMOEIES. 

LIKE  a  golden  gleam  of  sunlight, 
Glistening  o'er  the  icy  trees, 
Where  have  danced  the  summer  leaflets, 

To  the  music  of  the  breeze, 
Are  the  dreams  of  childhood's  summer, 

To  the  aged,  weary  heart, 
Bringing  back  the  home-lit  circle, 
Where  ten  thousand  memories  start. 

Blest  those  memories !  though  they  sadly 

Leave  an  impress  on  the  soul ; 
Yet  like  way-marks  on  our  pathway, 

Cheer  us  to  our  future  goal. 
Blest  those  memories !  though  they  chase  us 

Through  the  flight  of  passing  years ; 
On  their  track  they  leave  a  lovelight, 

Where  may  flow  our  mournful  tears. 
116 


OLD    MEMORIES.  117 

How  around  the  choicest  tendrils 

Of  our  hearts  they  careless  play  ; 
Like  a  soft  and  gentle  zephyr, 

Sporting  'mid  the  locks  of  grey — 
Holding  there  a  sweet  communion, 

With  our  secret  hearts  alone  ; 
Bringing  back  familiar  faces, 

Long-loved  scenes  foreyer  gone! 
8 


MUSIC. 

WHEN  the  crimson  morning  peeps 
O'er  the  hills  and  mountain  steeps  ; 
And  at  Noon's  bright,  stilly  hour, 
Music,  let  me  feel  thy  power ! 
A.nd  when  Night,  with  noiseless  step, 
Comes  to  lull  the  flowers  to  sleep, 
Scattering  moonlight  o'er  the  sea — 
Charm  me  with  thy  melody ! 

There  is  music  in  the  stream, 
Blending  with  the  poet's  dream  ; 
In  the  woods,  and  on  the  air ; 
Music,  music  everywhere ! 

Stars — ye  that  together  sing; 
Birds  that  carol  on  the  wing ; 

118 


MUSIC.  119 


Tell  this  yearning,  longing  heart, 
Music,  tell  me  what  thou  art ! 
For  no  other  power  so  blest, 
Lulling  weary  hearts  to  rest, 
Softening  sorrow,  soothing  woe, 
As  thy  numbers  sweetly  flow. 

Give  me  music  wlien  I  die, 
Soft  as  summer's  leafy  sigh; 
Spirit-music,  low  and  dear, 
Such  as  angels  list  to  hear. 


AT  THE  GEAVE  OF  MRS.  L.  H.  SIGOURNEY. 

THERE  was  strange  music  in  the  leaves 
As  I,  a  mourner,  paused  to  tread 
Where  Autumn  tint  a  glory  weaves, 

In  silent  tribute  to  the  dead  ! 
And  oh,  methought  an  angel  paused 

Beside  me  there,  to  touch  the  wires, 
Till  thrilling  melodies  from  heaven , 
Came  quivering  from  a  thousand  lyres. 

All  tremblingly  my  feet  were  pressed 

To  the  green  grave  of  one  whose  song 
And  love  dwelt  in  my  breast, 

With  tender  friendship,  deep  and  strong. 
And,  bending  o'er  that  silent  mound, 

Where  maples  drop  their  leaves  like  tears, 
I  folded  back  the  drapery 

Of  mist,  that  hid  the  faded  years. 
120 


AT   THE   GRAVE    OF  MRS.   L.   H.    S1GOURNEY     121 

And  then  I  heard  her  harp  again, 

I  heard  her  step  along  the  walk, 
And  listened  with  a  longing  pain 

To  hear  again  her  pleasant  talk, 
As  when  I  heard,  and  saw  her  last, 

In  the  cool  quiet  of  her  home, 
And  parting  held  my  hand  so  fast, 

Without  one  shadowy  thought  of  gloom. 

Sister  of  song !  whose  harp  was  tuned 

To  the  sweet  sounds  thy  spirit  heard, 
Say,  dost  thou  know  how  that  dear  hour 

Hath  all  my  restless  heart-strings  stirred? 
We  shall  not  meet  on  earth  I  know, 

Thou  wilt  not  press  my  hand  in  thine, 
Yet,  still  thy  soothing  members'  flow, 

Go  answering  back  this  heart  of  mine ! 


I  PRAY  FOR  THEE  AT  NIGHT-FALL. 

I  PEAT  for  thee  at  night-fall ; 
There  is  no  hour  so  sweet 
As  when  the  golden  daylight 

And  evening  shadows  meet ; 
For  those  we  prize  so  dearly, 

Seein  nearer  by  our  side ; 
The  dear  ones  God  has  spared  us, 
The  loved  ones  who  have  died. 

The  quiet  hours  of  night-fall 

Are  free  from  earthly  care  ; 
And  sounds  of  heaven  steal  o'er  us, 

The  music  of  a  prayer ; 
And  as  the  dewy  rose-bud 

Folds  in  her  beauteous  leaves, 
My  spirit-love  enfolds  thee, 

For  thee  a  casket  weaves. 
122 


/  PRAY  FOR    THEE  AT  NIGHTFALL.  123 

I  praise  Him  in  the  night-fall, 

For  thy  dear  love  to  me  ; 
The  purest  star  that  ever 

Shone  o'er  life's  troubled  sea  ; 
These  breathings  of  devotion, 

The  ave-song  and  hymn, 
I  give  to  thee  forever, 

Till  life's  brief  day  grows  dim. 


THOU  AKT  AWAY. 

THOU  art  away,  beloved !  no  music  trilling 
Its  softest,  sweetest  notes  around  my  heart, 
Can  chase  away  the  memories  dear  and  thrilling, 
That  linger  round  thee,  absent  though  thou  art. 

I  have  no  hope  in  life,  but  there  is  blended 
Some  thought  of  thee,  a  ray  serenely  pure  ; 

No  hope  of  life  beyond,  our  wanderings  ended — 
But  whispers  that  our  love  will  still  endure, 

I  hope  beyond  the  grave  !  with  one  thought  only 
Is  doubt  of  peace  beyond  the  river's  swell ; 

'Tis  that,  while  on  earth  I  wandered  lonely, 
I  met  and  loved,  aye,  worshiped  thee  too  well ! 

Is  this  vain  worship,  that  like  some  evangel 
Has  breathed  a  sweetness  through   my   very 

soul? 

Tell  me,  oh  Truth,  thou  never-erring  angel — 
Have  mortals  over  love  a  calm  control  ? 
124 


THOU  ART  AWAY.  125 

Tell  me,  if  in  the  land  of  fadeless  flowers, 
Where  fountains  of  all  happiness  impart 

Their  glorious  beauty  o'er  celestial  bowers, 
Will  love-ties  e'er  be  riven  from  the  heart  ? 

And  loves,  that  earnest  spirits  here  may  cherish, 
Oh,  will  they  die,  like  flowers  of  earthly  bloom? 

If  this  be  so,  how  gladly  would  I  perish 
To  live  no  more  beyond  the  narrow  tomb. 

I  would  be  with  thee  now,  my  own  true-hearted  ! 

My  Beautiful !  I  would  that  thou  wert  here  ; 
But  even  though  by  weaiy  distance  parted, 

I  feel  the  presence  of  thy  spirit  near. 

I  hear  thy  voice  among  the  leaves  at  even, 
When  fairies  dance  beneath  the  moon -lit  sky  ; 

In  every  breeze,  like  music-tones  from  heaven — 
Tones  like  thine  own,  go  floating  sweetly  by. 

I  hear  my  name  from  thy  dear  lips  come  breath- 
ing, 

When  the  bright  dew  is  on  the  nodding  flowers  ; 
And  thy  warm  kiss  around  my  cheek  is  wreathing 

A  holy  sweetness  with  the  starry  hours. 


126  THOU  ART   AWAY. 

Each  morn  and  noon,  and  at  the  shadowy  vesper, 
I  fold  my  hands  in  silent  prayer  for  thee  ; 

That  God  will  guard  thee,  and  the  angels  whisper 
Wooing  thy  spirit's  presence  back  to  me. 


ANTICIPATION. 

EAETH  is  not  cold,  nor  dreary  now, 
Since  thy  sweet  love  lies  o'er  my  way, 
And  I  forget  beneath  its  glow, 

Where  all  life's  lingering  shadows  stay. 

Thought  after  thought  goes  after  thee, 
My  hopes  and  dreams,  I  give  thee  all ; 

As  one  by  one,  sure,  silently, 

The  Summer's  blooming  rose-leaves  fall. 

For  thou  hast  made  a  summer-time 
Of  endless  bloom  within  my  heart ; 

I  cannot  weave  in  simple  rhyme, 
The  joy  thy  worship  doth  impart. 

Low  prophet-whispers  hour  by  hour, 
Like  some  rich  symphony  repeat, 

127 


128  A  NTWIPA  TWN. 

Till  I  exist  by  their  sweet  power — 
"  We  soon  shall  meet !"  "  we  soon  shall  meet !" 

Oh,  that  dear  hope,  all  rainbow-hued — 
Hath  stilled  my  life's  unrest  and  pain  ; 

My  waking  hours  are  all  bedewed 

With  hopes  that  we  shall  meet  again  ! 


SLAIN. 

HE  has  murdered  iny  love !  it  is  dead,  it  is 
dead! 

Lying  passionless,  perished,  chilly  and  stark  ! 
Like  a  flower  that  has  royally  lifted  its  head, 

And,  suddenly  severed,  lies  crushed  in  the  dark. 
Oh,  mother  of  sorrow  !  in  pity  say  why 

The  great  tide  of  womanhood  thus  should  be" 

chilled  ; 

Why  may  we  not  fold  up  our  pale  hands  and  die, 
Ere  the  music  of  life  in  our  hearts  has  been 
stilled? 

A  dream  m,ay  repeat  itself  ;  this  is  no  dream  ! 

No  flashes  of  light  will  appear  on  the  hearth  ; 
The  ashes  are  white,  and  too  surely  they  seem 

To  scatter  themselves  all  over  my  path. 
;  129 


130  SLAIN. 

Perhaps  we  shall  meet  again  over  the  sea 
That  is  deepest,  and  fearfully,  billowy  cold— 

But  never  again  will  there  come  back  to  me, 
The  love  that  he  murdered,  iny  heart  knew  oi' 
old! 


REVERIE. 

STANDING  here  within  the  casement, 
Where  we  stood  last  winter-time  ; 
Thinking  of  the  year's  sad  changes, 
Wearing  fancies  into  rhyme. 

All  the  loved  and  lost  that  left  us 
For  the  world  far  out  of  sight, 

Seem  to  come  with  tender  presence, 
With  the  old-time  love  to-night. 

And  we  watch  the  feathery  snow-fall, 
Pure  as  the  last  kiss  they  gave — 

Knowing  how  it  coldly  flutters, 
Down  upon  the  lonely  grave. 

Sweet  to  turn  from  life's  wild  tumult, 
From  its  mourning  and  unrest ; 

And  to  know  no  heavier  burden 
Than  the  snow-flakes  on  our  breast. 

131 


GBEENWOOD  CEMETERY. 

BLEST   angel  of  Love!   methinks  thou   art 
here, 
Scattering    thy    flowers   where   the    Beautiful 

sleeps  ; 

Affection  has  left  in  each  chalice  a  tear, 
A  symbol  of  that  which  our  memory  keeps. 

Wave  lightly  ye  blossoms !  thy  delicate  sheen 
Has  caught  the  bright  beauty  and  glory  of  love  ; 
lie   hands  that  have   mingled  thy   petals    with 

green, 

Have  nursed  the  fair  flowers  that  are  blooming 
above. 

The  shadows  that  creep  here  the  long   summer 

day, 

Remind  me  of  footprints  the  mourners  have  left , 
Though  faith  may  be  shining  all  over  life's  way, 
The  shadows  of  sorrow  hang  o'er  the  bereft. 
132 


GREENWOOD    CEMETERY.  133 

All   freighted  with  music  from  southlands  have 

come, 
The  birds  of  the  greenwood  to  weave  their  soft 

nest ; 

To  lighten  the  darkness  and  lingering  gloom, 
And  wave  their  bright  wings  where  treasured 
ones  rest. 

Oh,  fair  is  the  garden  where  blossoms  above 
Our  dear  buds  of  promise,  that  wither  on  earth  ; 

For  Jesus  sheds  o'er  them  his  infinite  love, 
And  carefully  guards  every  petal  of  worth. 

Sing  softly,  my  lyre!  the  gifted  and  good, 
The  treasures  of  hearts  that  are  bleeding,  lie 

here ; 
And  let  not  the  song  of  a  stranger  intrude, 

For  it  trembles  with  hope,  and  is  sung  with  a 
tear. 

9 


KISSES. 

HE  presses  kisses  on  my  brow, 
As  softly  as  the  rain-drop's  fall ; 
Like  fragrant  blossoms  of  the  spring, 

And  sweeter,  sweeter  than  them  all ! 
And  fresher,  purer  than  the  winds 

That  lift  the  petals  of  the  flowers  ; 
They  gladden  all  my  fevered  life 
With  new  and  renovating  powers. 

Sweet  kisses  from  the  lips  1  love, 

Strung  on  the  heart's  most  tender  chords, 
Like  pearls,  that  tremble  with  my  joy, 

Too  beautiful  for  human  words  ! 
So  press  them  ever  on  my  brow, 

They  soothe  the  pain  that's  throbbing  there, 
They  are  the  richest  diadem 

My  woman's  soul  aspires  to  wear! 

134 


A    MIDNIGHT    EHYME. 

OH,  darkened  heart,  whose  hopes  of  yore 
Came  dancing  gaily  unto  me, 
And  like  the  laughing  waves  of  sea, 
Lost  all  their  music  on  the  shore  ! 

Oh,  lonely  heart,  whose  early  loves 
Sang  sweeter  than  the  birds  of  spring 
Sing,  with  the  first  flowers'  opening ; 

Now  moaning  like  a  widowed  dove ! 

Oh,  aged  heart !  the  little  years 

That  passed  o'er  thee  are  swift  and  few ; 

Dead  all  youth's  fragrance  and  its  dew ; 
Its  light  all  quenched  in  midnight  tears. 

Oh,  weary  heart !  that  sits  and  waits, 
And  longs  for  something  yet  to  come ; 

135 


136  A    MIDNIGHT  RHYME. 

For  light,  and  love,  and  hope,  and  home, 
For  rest  beyond  the  "golden  gates." 

Oh,  thankless  heart !  alas  for  thee ! 

Be  patient  till  the  day  is  done ! 

The  glory  of  the  setting  sun 
Shall  shine  across  the  jasper  sea. 

Oh,  hush,  proud  heart !  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
Be  patient,  for  thy  weary  beat 
Is  playing  marches  for  the  feet 

That  bear  the  cross,  to  gain  the  crown. 

Be  strong,  oh,  suffering  heart,  and  brave  ! 

The  stars  beyond  the  darkness  shine ; 

Thou'lt  be  immortal,  soul  of  mine, 
In  thy  fair  home  beyond  the  grave ! 


LINES    TO    ANNA    M.   BATES. 

NOW,  while  the  low  winds  murmur  sadly, 
And  moonbeams  shine  athwart  the  lonely 

sea, 

And  stars  from  out  their  depths  are  smiling  gladly, 
I  come  in  dreams  of  poesy  to  thee* 

As  on  some  stranger  shore  a  bird  repining 
To  rest  a  weary  wing  within  its  nest, 

My  eager  heart  around  thy  form  is  twining, 
And  in  thy  gentle  love  I  fain  would  rest. 

Out  from  the  shadows  of  the  past  are  peering 
Forms,  some  as  bright  as  poets  see  in  dreams  ; 
And  to  mine  ear  come  whispered  words  endearing, 
Whose  love-light  fills  my  soul   with  hallowed 
beams. 

137 


138  TO   ANNA    M.    BATES. 

Yet  thine  the  form  that  cornes  to  me  the  nearest, 
Thine  are  the  lips  that  fondest  press  to  mine  ; 

The  happiest  smile,  the  tenderest  word,  and  dear- 
est, 
That  thrill  my  soul  to-night,  dear  one,  are  thine. 

Oh,  may  thy  hymnings,  like  a  crystal  river, 
Giving  sweet  music  on  its  pebbly  way, 

Swell  on  our  listening  ear  their  tones  forever, 
And  guide  thy  life-bark  to  a  brighter  day ! 


DKEAM  ON. 

DREAM  on,  nor  let  the  minstrel's  tread 
Disturb  thy  slumbers  now  ; 
That  Peace  may  her  sweet  blessing  shed, 

Around  thy  youthful  brow. 
For  oh,  not  long  may  mortals  rest, 

In  this  brief  world  of  care  ; 
And  sleeeping  hours  are  happiest, 
If  dreams  of  love  be  there. 

Dream  on,  perchance  thy  lost  come  back, 

The  loved  of  long  ago  ; 
And  forms  of  joy,  on  memory's  track, 

Float  softly  to  and  fro. 
Enjoy  thy  rest,  we  would  not  fright 

Thy  angel-guests  away, 
While  'neath  the  midnight's  starry  light, 

We  chant  or  simple  lay. 

139 


140  DREAM   ON. 

But  like  the  night  wind's  lowly  rhyme, 

Around  thy  casement  now  ; 
We  breathe  to  thee  our  parting  hymn, 

Our  blessing  ere  we  go. 
Dream  on,  dream  on  !  may  angels  keep 

Thee  guard  by  night  and  day, 
Till  thou  shalt  sleep  thy  dreamless  sleep, 

Then  rest  in  heaven  alway. 


SCHOOL'S    OUT. 

ryiHERE'S  a  sound  of  distant  laughter 

-L      From  the  children  at  their  play  ; 
And  the  echoes  follow  after, 

Through  the  rocks  and  glens  away. 
Bosy  childhood !  rosy  childhood  ! 

How  I  love  thy  guiltless  mirth  ; 
Fairer  than  the  flowery  wild  wood 

Is  thy  sinless  course  on  earth  ! 

Dearer  than  old  tales  of  fiction 

Are  their  tell-tale  faces  now, 
And  an  angel's  benediction 

Seems  to  rest  on  every  brow. 
And  their  little  raptured  faces 

'Mind  me  of  the  young  Christ-child, 
And  I  sigh  that  through  life's  mazes 

They  must  tread,  and  be  defiled. 

141 


142 


SCHOOL'S    OUT. 


Darling  children  !  in  life's  morning, 

In  life's  fresh  and  dewy  spring — 
I  will  not,  with  one  sad  warning, 

To  your  trusting  spirits  bring 
Doubts,  or  thoughts  that  life  now  golden, 

Will  not  be  thus  bright  alway  ; 
These  are  tales  too  sad  and  olden  ; 

Laugh,  glad  children,  while  you  may  ! 


THE    SPIRIT'S    CALL. 

X*">OME,  spirit,  while  the  evening  light  is  weav- 
\^S    ing 

Its  crimson  folds  along  the  western  sky ; 
And  golden  bars  of  sunlight  all  are  leaving 
Their  trysting-places  on  the  mountains  high. 

Come  back  to  me,  the  shadowy  clouds  are  wreath- 
ing 

Their  glorious  images,  like  poet's  dreams  ; 
And  voiceless  prayers  our  inmost  lives  are  breath- 
ing, 
As  wave  meets  wave  along  the  silent  streams. 

Come  !  'tis  the  vesper  hour !  I  would  be  holding 
A  secret  worship  now,  dear  love,  with  thee, 

While  children's  rosy  hands  are  meekly  folding  » 
For  evening  prayers,  upon  a  mother's  knee. 

143 


144  THE    SPIRIT'S    CALL. 

To  poet-thoughts  to-night  I  fain  would  listen, 

That  ever  throng  thy  soul,  more  fair  and  bright 
Than  worlds  of  stars,  that  o'er  us  softly  glisten — 
f    My  spirit  yearns  for  that  Promethean  light. 

Say,  nearest  thou  not  my  restless  spirit  calling 
For  thine,  O  poet !  from  the  land  of  dreams, 

While  night's  dim  drapery  around  is  falling, 
And  silent  stars  send  down  their  silvery  beams  ? 

Ah,  sweeter  were  they  than  Provencial  roses, 
Those  flowers  of  thonght  we  gathered  long  ago  ! 

Thine  is  the  heart  where  happiness  reposes, 
And  sacred  streams  of   Love  go  murmuring 
through ! 


UNDER  THE  SNOW-DRIFTS. 

UNDER  the  snow-drifts,  chilly  and  deep, 
Our  beautiful  lily-bud  lies  asleep  ; 
Velvety  hands  that  were  warm  and  soft, 

Dear  litfcle  cheeks  we  have  kissed  so  oft, 
Red  cooing  lips  we  delighted  to  hear, 

All  lying  dead  with  the  flowers  of  last  year. 

Out  in  that  world  where  flowers  never  fade, 
Where  never  a  grave,  or  snow-drift  is  made 

Music  of  lips,  and  beauty  of  face, 
Deepen  forever  with  infinite  grace  ; 

Beautiful  world !  we  do  not  know  where — 
Shelter  of  safety  !  our  Beulah  is  there  ! 

145 


HOPE. 

HOPE  is  a  paradise-bird !  and  she  sings 
Down   in   the   depths   of    each   desolate 

heart ; 
Over  them  folding  her  beautiful  wings, 

Blending  her  smiles  with  their  tears  when  they 

start ; 
Lighting  our  passage-way  down  to  the  tomb, 

Sweet  is  her  ministry,  lovely  her  guise  ! 
Ah  !  she  is  wooing  us  up  to  our  home  ; 
Promising  weary  ones  rest  in  the  skies. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  0.  D.  SEYMOUR,  JR. 


I 


HEARD    how   the   billowy  deeps,  and   the 

night 

Of  sorrow,  and  anguish,  and  desolate  pain, 
Had  hushed  all  the  music,  and  dimmed  all  the 

light 
In  the  home  that  had  blessed  me  again  and 

again. 

Oh,  where  was  the  promising  light  of  the  sky  ? 
Looking    upward   the   shadows  were   dreadful 

instead. 

"  Eternal  Compassion,  have  mercy  1"  cried  I ; 
No  answer  came  back,  save  the  one,   "  He  is 
dead."    • 


He  is  dead !    while  the  flowers  of  summer  still 
bloom, 

147 


148         ON  THE  DEATH  OF   0.  D.  SEYMOUR,  JR. 

And  Autumn,  great   mourner,  weeps  over  his 

heart ; 

Yet  memory  will  bring  us  a  sweeter  perfume, 
To   bless   our   sad   hours,  than    earth's  roses 

impart. 

We  know  there  is  Best  in  the  beautiful  land, 
Where  the  night  never  comes,  with  sorrow  or 
tears ; 

And  over  the  river  his  welcoming  hand 
Is  beckoning  forever  to  silence  our  fears. 

The  winter  of  sorrow  is  cold  while  we  wait 

To   grasp   the   dear  hands  that  are  warm  in 

the  Fold ; 

But  never  a  chill  enters  in  through  the  gate, 
Where  he  passed  in  his  beauty  to  "  cities  of 
gold." 


NEWSBOYS. 

SURELY  as  the  cool  of  evening 
Follows  on  the  day  of  heat, 
And  the  dew  his  diamonds  scatters 

On  the  city's  dusty  street ; 
Just  so  surely  comes  the  calling, 

Through  the  bustle  and  the  noise, 
.Here  and  there,  like  echoes  falling — 
From  these  restless  wandering  boys. 

Oft  I've  met  them  on  the  pavement 
As  they  sped  along  their  way, 

Listening  to  the  earnest  singing 
Of  their  tireless  business  lay. 

So  together  each  pursuing, 

Some  accepted,  favorite  dream, 

We  are  only  weary  travelers, 

10  " 


160  NEW8BOY8. 

Floating  down  life's  rapid  stream  1 
And  I  look  with  interest  often 

On  each  little  upturned  face, 
Seeking  if  the  inward  spirit 

Left  not  there  some  outward  trace  ; 
And  one's  eyes  reflected  sunshine 

From  the  founts  of  mirth  and  joy, 
And  my  heart  beat  quicker,  gladder, 

For  that  merry-hearted  boy. 

Then  a  few  more  steps  would  lead  me 

To  another  face,  perchance, 
Where  a  saddened  heart  was  speaking 

Of  its  grief  in  every  glance ; 
Telling  that  life's  stern  endeavor 

Brought  its  suffering  to  his  heart, 
And  that  earnest  toil  had  early 

Left  with  him  its  endless  smart  1 

Oh  the  care  that  crushes  children 
With  its  weight,  in  tender  years, 

Bobbing  them  of  childhood's  sunshine, 
Giving  back  a  tide  of  tears  ; 


NEWSBOYS.  151 

Drowning  all  the  music-laughter, 
With  their  surging  ebb  and  flow  ! 

Oh,  the  blight  that  follows  after — 
Would  to  God  it  were  not  so  ! 


A  FKAGMENT. 

SAD  that  the  world  so  beautifully  bright — 
Should  have  one  cloud  to  mar  its  holy  light ! 
Sad  too,  that  man  has  lived,  has  fallen,  died  ! 
That  change  still  bears  him  on  its  restless  tide. 

What  is  the  soul  ?  it  wanders  after  God, 

And  all  his  works,  through  paths  mysterious,  trod 

By  millions  o'er  and  o'er,  yet  understood 

Not  here,  save  that  He  is  most  wise  and  good  1 


152 


«  THINE  TO  THE  END." 

«,  rTiHINE  to  the  end!"  mine  own  to  love  and 
JL  cherish, 

My  friend  in  blessing,  mine  in  happiest  hours  ; 
When  life  grows  weary  and  its  sweet  hopes  perish, 

And  sorrow's  cloud  of  darkness  o'er  me  lowers. 

Mine,  mine !  God  bless  thee  for  the  sweet  words 

spoken 
When   the   worn   heart  most  needed   healing 

balm  ; 
When  life's  great  sea  of  joy  seemed   wild   and 

broken, 
And  moaned  in  vain  for  light  and  holy  calm. 

"  Thine  to  the  end !"  I  hear  thy  dear  lips  saying, 
Though  we  .are  parted  now  by  land  and  sea ; 

153 


154  THINE    TO    THE  END. 

"  Thine  to  the  end  !"  my  heart  is  ever  praying 
The  boon  of  lengthened  life  for  thee  and  me  ! 

For  well  I  know  the  path  of  sternest  duty, 
If  lighted  by  thy  truthfulness,  loved  friend, 

Would  be  to  me  a  path  of  peace  and  beauty  ; 
And  I  should  hear  sweet  music  "  to  the  end." 

We  may  not  meet  again  this  side  the  river, 
Whose  shoreless  waters  sing  to  me  to-day  ; 

Yet,  knowing  thou  wert  true  to  me  forever, 
Would  take  the  bitterness  of  death  away ! 


ALWAYS   TIRED. 

I'M  tired  of  dreams  when  the  night  is  gone ; 
And  tired  of  work  when  night  comes  on  ; 
Of  the  glare,  and  heat,  and  feverish  strife, 
That  crowd  the  days  of  my  little  life. 

Weary  of  work,  more  weary  of  play — 
Of  watching  the  swift  hours  pass  away  ; 
Weary  of  asking  and  wondering  why 
The  good  God  made  us  to  live  and  die. 

Weary  of  asking,  pleading  in  vain 
For  the  blessing  I  never  shall  know  again  ; 
For  the  love  of  a  life  so  strong  and  brave, 
The  beat  of  a  heart  asleep  in  the  grave. 

Oh,  peace  to  the  hearts  that  at  rest  to  day 
Lie  where  the  shadows  of  summer  play ! 

155 


156  ALWAYS    TIRED. 

Life's  agony  over,  why  should  we  weep 

For  those  who  lie  dreamless,  in  safety  asleep  ? 

Threads  that  are  golden  lie  thickly  between 
Our  weary  hearts  and  the  world  unseen  ; 
They  draw  us  hence  with  a  stronger  power 
Than  the  gilded  charms  of  this  passing  hour. 

And  out  from  the  far  Beyond  there  swells 
A  sweeter  sound  than  the  chime  of  bells  ; 
The  earth-bound  soul  as  he  lists  inspired, 
Writhes  enchained  and  moans,  "  I'm  tired  !" 

Ah  !  the  wintry  earth — how  it  smiles  again, 
With  flowers  and  fruit,  and  the  golden  grain  ! 
But  you,  poor  heart,  must  hush  your  cry, 
And  bear  your  pain,  though  you  may  die. 

For  its  bloom  is  past,  its  summer  died  ; 
Its  dearest  hopes  lie  crucified, 
And  its  tenderest  ties  are  rudely  riven — 
Life  brings  no  spring  this  side  of  heaven. 


ALWAYS    TIRED.  157 


Oh,  tired  of  work,  and  tired  of  play  ! 

Of  watching  the  sad  hours  go  away ! 

Of  unspoken  thoughts,  till  the  brain  is  fired  ; 

And  the  whole  heart  whispers,  I'm  so  tired  ' 


I  WILL  BE  TRUE  TO  THEE, 

THE  golden  dream  of  life  may  fade, 
And  joyous  hopes  may.  die  ; 
And  round  thy  path  the  darkest  shade 

Of  care  and  sorrow  lie ; 
And  friends  may  thy  frail  bark  forsake 

On  Time's  most  treacherous  sea  ; 
I'll  love  thee  still  for  thy  sweet  sake, 
I  will  be  true  to  thee. 

As  in  the  present,  and  the  past, 

My  heart  will  cling  to  thine  ; 
So  through  each  change  around  thee  cast 

Oh,  trust  this  heart  of  mine  ; 
And  when  in  hours  of  weariness, 

Thine  own  beats  wearily, 
And  there  are  none  to  love  and  bless, 

I  will  be  true  to  thee. 
158 


/    WILL    BE   TRUE   TO    THEE.  159 

And  when  our  feet  shall  tread  the  verge 

That  borders  Death's  dark  stream, 
Our  souls  in  sweetest  life  shall  merge 

To  joys  beyond  earth's  dream. 
So  twining  through  the  web  of  life, 

One  golden  thread  I  see  ; 
One  peace-branch  on  earth's  sea  of  strife, 

That  I  am  true  to  thee ! 


A    JUNE    MEMOEY. 

IN  the  fresh  June-time,  ere  the  roses  break 
In  blushing  beauty  from  their  emerald  buds, 
And  the  low  winds  in  softest  numbers  wake, 

Like  spirit-harps  among  the  flowers  and  woods, 
And  the  red  clover  blushes  at  their  kiss, 

And  the  wild  bee  goes  humming  thro'  the  air, 
And  song  and  fragrance,  and  sweet  happiness, 

Float  like  a  cloud  of  incense  everywhere — 
Thus  in  the  June-time  of  the  glowing  year 

We  met,  with  Hope's  sweet  blossoms  in  our 

hearts, 

And  the  soft  hand  of  gladness  stayed  the  tear, 
The   dimming  tear,   that   with  life's  changes 
starts. 

Now,  in  the  Jane-time,  in  my  silent  room, 
That  memory  comes  back  again  to  me, 
160 


A    JUNE   MEMORY.  161 

And  sheds  around  me  all  the  old-time  bloom, 

And  low  winds  whisper,  "  /  am  true  to  thee" 
As  the  red  leaves  in  all  their  sweetness  lie, 

Close-folded  in  the  roses'  hearts  to-day, 
So  fragrant  memories,  as  the  June  hours  fly — 

Lie  closely  in  my  heart  of  hearts  alway  ; 
And  though  we  meet  no  more  this  side  the  grave, 

Thy  hand  no   more  in  friendship  pressed  in 

mine, 
On  life's  dark  sea  there'll  be  one  sun-lit  wave. 

Radiant  with  pleasure  it  will  ever  shine. 


ALAS! 

IS  it  a  dream  that  I  have  loved  thee  so  ? 
A  phantom  I  have  chased  with  wild  dilight, 
That  strange  bewildering  joy,  this  hidden  woe, 
That  glorious  morning  light,  this  starless  night  ? 

Why  hast  thou  perished,  beautiful,  my  own ! 

My  heart's  fixed  star,  my  inspiration,  all ! 
See'st  thou  the  midnight  o'er  my  spirit  thrown  ? 

Hearest  thou  the  moaning  of  my  lone  heart's 
call? 

Ah,  the  low  music  of  remembered  words 
Thy  lips  have  spoken  in  the  years  agone, 

Come  back  to  me  like  songs  of  early  birds, 
E'en  while  the  summer  of  my  life  is  flown. 

Thy  meek  eyes  gaze  upon  me  tenderly, 
While  into  mine  the  tears  of  anguish  start ; 
162 


ALAS!  163 

For  I  remember  how  this  soft  spring  sky, 
Smiles  into  bloom  the  myrtles  on  thy  heart. 

Oh,  would  that  these  were  dreams,  these  hopeless 
hours. 

That  waste  away  the  life  with  hidden  sighs  ; 
These  memories  of  the  past,  these  faded  flowers  1 

Alas,  alas !  they  are  realities. 


A  WINTEE  DEEAM  OE  SUMMEE. 

I  SIT  in  the  gathering  twilight, 
And  dream  of  the  summer  days, 
With  their  wealth  of  buds  and  blossoms 
And  myriad  songs  of  praise. 

And  I  close  my  eyes  to  listen, 
Not  to  the  wild  wind's  song, 

As  he  raps  my  frosty  casement, 
With  hands  so  loud  and  strong. 

Not  of  the  path  so  lonely, 
Up  by  the  mountain's  side  ; 

Where  the  merry  boys  are  shouting, 
As  over  the  snow  they  glide. 

A  dream  of  the  dear  old  summer 
Comes  back  with  its  light  to  me ; 

And  I  seem  to  hear  the  murmur 

Of  the  great  and  wondrous  sea ! 
164 


A    WINTER    DREAM  OF  SUMMER.  165 

Oh,  sea,  with  your  sighs  and  laughter ! 

Will  you  haunt  me  evermore, 
With  the  voice  that  followed  after 

I  left  thy  dreamy  shore  ?    . 

That  summer  of  light  and  beauty 

Still  warms  this  wintry  night, 
And  softens  every  duty, 

And  makes  each  burden  light! 

Oh,  life !  so  sweet  and  holy, 

So  full  of  joy  and  love ! 
A  promise  leading  slowly, 

To  the  great  Best  above. 
11 


"WRITE  IN  MY  ALBUM." 

I  KNOW  not  what  to  write  for  thee, 
This  wild,  tempestuous  night ; 
As  dreamily  beside  the  grate, 
I  watch  the  flickering  light. 

For  sitting  by  the  hearth  so  warm, 

With  quiet  comfort  blest, 
I  ask  if  the  dear  Shepherd's  arm 

Will  give  life's  wanderers  rest. 

For  out  upon  the  wintry  world, 

God's  weary  children  roam, 
Blighted  at  heart  with  dark  and  cold, 

Without  a  friend  or  home. 

From  some  glad  eyes  there  comes  a  smile, 

From  many  tear-drops  fall ; 
And  yet  the  Father  all  the  while, 

Keeps  watch  above  them  all ! 
166 


«  WRITE   IN    MY    ALBUM."  167 

And  thoughts  of  human  suffering 
Surge  o'er  me,  sad  and  strong  ; 

And  all  the  weariness  they  bring 
Has  hushed  the  up  springing  song ! 

So  not  to-night,  my  little  friend, 

Your  album  words  I'll  write ; 
My  thoughts,  like  these  poor  embers,  end 

In  ashes,  still  and  white. 


BETWEEN    THE    CLOUDS. 

YES,  I  am  dying  with  the  light  and  beauty 
That  has   been   gilding   all   this   fruitful 

year ! 
Prom  all  life's  bitterness — the  cross  of  duty — 

I  turn  to-day  without  a  sigh  or  tear. 
Life,    more    than     death,    makes    sadly    vacant 

places 

That  chill  our  hearts,  or  make  us  wish  to  die ; 
'Tis  not  the  grave  alone  that  hides  dear  faces, 
And  shatters  all  the  spirit's  harmony. 

The  autumn  leaves,  like  gorgeous  plumage  falling, 
Drop  not  more  softly  on  yon  stream  to-day, 

Than  the  sweet  voices  that  to  me  are  calling, 
To  turn  from  all  life's  winter-chill  away. 

I  feel  the  flush  and  the  unrest  of  fever, 

On    heart    and    brain,    on   wearied    pulse  and 
brow  ; 

168 


BETWEEN    THE  CLOUDS.  169 

And  the  dread  chill  which  follows  after  ever, 
Leaving  the  tides  of  being  ebbing  low. 

And  when  the  robins  chant  their  matins  over, 

In  the  first  gush  of  next  year's  welcome  spring, 
And  the  gay  bee  hangs  on  the  honeyed  clover, 

And  fragrant  woods  and  fields  are  blossoming, 
One  heart  the  less  will  thrill  at  their  returning", 

In  the  deep  silence  of  its  dreamless  sleep  ; 
No  fires  of  life's  intensity  be  burning 

With   throbs    of    pain,   and   weary   eyes   that 
weep. 

Oh,  earth  !  so  full  of  beauty,  e'en  thy  crosses 

Could  not    estrange    my   wondrous    love    for 

thee! 
Amid  my  human  needs,  my  heart's  deep  losses, 

Thou  wert  my  soul's  unfailing  poesy. 
Thou,  thou  wert  true,  thy  glory  all  unblemished, 

When  mortals  failed  me,  in  life's  bitter  pain, 
I  turned  to  thee,  like  one  aweary,  famished, 

I  turned  to  thee,  and  never  yet  in  vain  ! 


TEMPTED. 

OH,  what  to  me  are  words  that  fill, 
My  woman's  heart  with  throbs  of  bliss  ? 
Or  fond  caresses,  that  can  thrill 
With  momentary  happiness? 
Or  promises,  whose  joy  and  light 

Shut  out  the  holy  light  of  heaven ; 
That  only  lead  me  where  the  night 
Has  not  one  golden  star  of  even? 

Sweet  Mother  of  my  tempted  soul! 

Sweet  woman,  with  thy  face  divine — 
Come  now,  and  let  thy  love  control 

This  weak  and  longing  soul  of  mine. 
Thou  knowest  how  thy  weary  child 

Has  longed  and  suffered  all  these  years, 
The  yearnings  for  affection  wild, 

The  lonely  nights  of  pain  and  tears. 
170 


TEMPTED.  171 

The  hopes,  so  sweet !  that  early  died — 
The  faded  dreams,  thou  knowest  them  all — 

Oh,  let  not  love  unsanotified 
By  thine  approval,  on  me  fall. 

So  in  the  fullness  of  thy  love, 

The  greatness  of  thy  woman's  strength, 

Look  in  thy  mercy  from  above, 

And  lead  me  safe  to  peace  at  length. 


BY-AND-BY. 

I  WAIT,  dear  love,  on  the  sea  so  wide — 
Till  the  threatening  storm  from  my  life  is  past, 
With  the  cheering  hope  that  side  by  side 
Our  sheltered  life-barks  rest  at  last. 

I  shall  toss  no  more  on  the  drifting  sea, 
With  my  eager  cry,  and  my  hopeless  wail, 

And  the  voiceless  love  that  breathes  to  thee, 
With  yearnings  wild  as  the  restless  gale. 

Oh,  the  fearful  burdens,  iron  hands — 
That  hold  my  mortal  life  with  care ! 

And  Poverty,  whose  bony  hands 

Clutch  at  the  heart  with  fierce  despair  ! 

They  have  made  me  old  in  my  early  years, 
And  saddest  mid  the  scenes  most  glad  ; 
172 


BY-AND-BT,  173 

And  chased  away  my  smiles  with  tears. 
And  clouded  every  joy  I've  had  ! 

But  I  wait,  dear  love,  till  the  storm  be  past, 
For  the  sun  to  shine  in  a  cloudless  sky ; 

Till  side  by  side  our  barks  be  cast, 
To  rest  for  ever,  by-and-by ! 


BITTER-SWEET. 

HE  loves  me  yet,  that  sainted  one — 
That  perished  in  life's  summer-time, 
"Who  left  me  standing  here  alone, 

To  breathe  this  simple,  untaught  rhyme. 
I  know  not  if  he  sleeps,  or  if 

He  walks  above  the  stars  in  light ; 
Or  if  with  me  he  dwells  unseen, 
To  guide  my  erring  feet  aright. 

It  is  no  changeful  dream  that  comes 

To  perish  like  an  autumn  day  ; 
No  phantom  which  I  cannot  clasp 

Before  it  vanish  quite  away  ; 
But  in  my  inmost  soul  I  know 

He  loves  me  fondly  as  of  yore ; 
This  blessed  thought  is  joy  enough  ; 

In  life,  or  death,  I  ask  no  more. 
174 


THE    AUTUMN    WIND. 

HOW  the  chilly  winds  of  Autumn 
Sob  and  sigh  around  my  door ! 
And  the  dropping  leaves  are  whispering 

Of  the  joys  that  died  of  yore  ; 
Of  the  voice  that  spake  so  softly, 

Of  the  soft,  caressing,  hand, 
And  the  eyes,  so  deep  and  tender — 
All  that  love  can  understand ! 

How  the  dear,  dear  days  of  summer 

Fled  away  like  golden  clouds, 
And  the  heart's  bright  sky  at  sunset 

Wreathed  itself  in  sable  shrouds. 
They  are  gone,  alas !  forever ; 

Friend  and  summer !  and  alone 
Now  I  walk  amid  the  shadows, 

Listening  to  the  sad  wind's  tone! 

175 


176  THE  AUTUMN    WIND. 

List !  it  sings  a  miserere 

Over  Memory's  cheerless  urn  ; 
O'er  the  fading  of  the  glory 

Where  the  lonely  heart  may  turn. 
So  it  sobs,  and  sighs,  and  whispers, 

Like  a  homesick  heart  in  pain, 
Wailing  out  the  perished  passion 

That  will  never  live  again. 

Golden  summer !    all  thy  beauty 

Gone  forever  to  the  past ! 
Clasp  me  in  thy  deathless  memory, 

Hold  me,  bless  me  to  the  last ! 
Till  the  white  tents  in  the  distance 

Gleam  out  from  the  farther  shore, 
And  I  know  I  shall  find  shelter, 

That  shall  fail  me  never  more. 


THE  FLOWER  IN  THE  SNOW. 

AH  me !  'tis  almost  winter,  and  the  snow 
Has  three  times  fluttered  'round  my  win- 
dow-pane, 

And  homeless  winds  upon  the  uplands  blow, 
And  all  the  trees  stand  leafless  on  the  plain. 
What  dost  thou  here,  dear  little  stranger,  now  ? 
I  found  thee  blooming  on  a  cherished  grave, 
Where  the  dead  grasses  o'er  a  treasure  wave, 
And  the  cold  moonlight  flickers  to  and  fro. 

Did  some  fair  angel  on  his  pinions  bright, 
While  keeping  guard,  waft  thee  from  flowery  Ian  ds 
Where   blooms  ne'er  fade — the    great   eternal 

height?- 
Wert  ever  culled  and  twined  by  seraph's  hands 

To  some  sweet  harp  whose  tones  of  slow  delight 
Were  tuned  in  unison  to  songs  of  heavenly  bands  ? 

177 


178  THE  FLOWER    IN    THE   SNOW. 

But  thou  art  withering,  'tis  true,  alas ! — 

My  earthly  touch  hath  made  thee  droop  and 

fade ! 
Oh,  will  this  vile  mortality  soon  pass 

To  bloom  eternal,  out  of  cold  and  shade  ? 
For  how  I  long  to  fling  aside  this  mass 
Of  sure  decay  that  to  my  being  clings, 
And  find  my  counterpart  with  fadeless  things  ; 
Long  to  be  free  from  life's  deceitful  fare  a  ! 

Lead  me,  dear  Father !  where  the  sinless  are, 
And  make  me  pure,  that  spirits  may  not  shrink 

Away  in  fear  when  on  their  shores,  so  fair, 
I  shall  have  passed  beyond  Death's  silent  brink  ! 
Dear  dying  flower,  the   chain  that   binds   me 

there 
Shall  find  in  thee  another  beauteous  link. 


ACEOSTIC. 

1  what  achievement  has  this  human  life, 
Richer  with  glory  when  this  life  is  past, 
Than  mastery  of  self   amid  earth's  strife 
Hearing  the  welcome  words  of  recompense  at  last, 
Uttered  from  lips  divine,  the  blessing  won  ? 
Reward  and  victory  !  "  T.hou  hast  well  done  /" 


THE    SILENT    BOOM. 

smile  has  died  on  each  pictured  face 
-L       That  hangs  to-day  on  the  ghostly  wall, 
Open  the  casement,  and  give  place 

For  the  sun's  bright  light,  and  warmth  to  fall. 

Oh,  the  chill  of  this  shadowy  room ! 

All  hushed  with  fear  my  heart  stands  still ; 
The  painful  years,  with  their  darkening  gloom 

Come  throb  by  throb  each  space  to  fill. 

There's  a  sad  despair  in  each  tender  eye, 
And  a  heart-break  lies  on  the  mute  white  lips  ; 

No  brightening  gold  in  the  tresses  lie, 
Silent  and  dim  with  Death's  eclipse. 

Why  in  this  beautiful  world  of  light, 

Where  hearts  are  glad,  and  loves  so  sweet, 
180 


THE   SILENT   ROOM  181 

Must  shame  and  sorrow,  and  death  and  blight, 
Crush  out  and  wound  with  reckless  feet  ? 

And  why  to-day  in  this  silent  room, 

Once  made  so  bright  with  love's  low  talk, 

And  trusts  as  sweet  as  heaven's  own  bloom 
Should  only  ghostly  shadows  walk? 

The  hearts  are  broken,  and  low  in  death 
The  folded  hands  lie  pressed  with  pain ; 

The  dust  lies  on  the  bridal  wreath — 
The  same  old  story  told  again ! 

So  close  the  casement,  lest  once  more 
Return  the  light,  and  joy,  and  bliss ; 

And  other  hearts  be  crushed  and  sore, 
And  come  to  silence  such  as  this ! 
12 


MONODY. 

I  AM  glad  she  sleeps  to-day 
'Neath  the  crimson  roses  ; 
Where  the  softest  winds  of  May 
Sing  while  she  reposes. 

Full  of  conflicts  was  her  life  ; 

Bitterly  they  bound  her  ; 
And  amid  the  fiercest  strife, 

Death's  sad  angel  found  her. 

Tenderly  he  kissed  her  brows, 
Stilling  all  their  beating ; 

Sweeter  words  than  earthly  vows 

To  her  soul  repeating. 
182 


MONODY.  183 

I  am  glad  the  May  moon's  light 

Falls  in  wondrous  glory 
On  her  marbled  name  so  white, 

Telling  victory's  story  1 


WOMAN. 

AH  woman's  heart  must  mask  it  well, 
The  love  she  is  too  proud  to  tell ; 
And  so  her  weary  feet  must  tread 
Paths  where  her  sister's  feet  have  bled, 
Till  the  soft  grave  shall  rest  upon 
The  restless  bosom  it  has  won. 

Oh,  woman's  heart !  oh,  woman's  strife  1 

Oh,  restless  sea  of  human  life  ! 

Oh,  woman's  love,  and  woman's  woe, 

In  surging  tides  of  being  flow ! 

What,  what  shall  whisper  "  peace,  be  still," 

While  bearing  crosses  up  life's  hill  ? 

Oh  Mother  !  Mary  !  Christ  divine  1 
Fill  up  life's  chalices  with  wine 
184 


WOMAN.  186 

Such  as  the  martyrs  long  ago 
Drank  to  assuage  their  human  woe, 
And  give  the  famished  heart  the  love 
That  drops  like  manna  from  above. 


THE  RAIN-FALL. 

SWEET  to  listen  to  the  rain-fall 
On  the  leafy  trees  of  June, 
As  it  plays  among  the  branches 

In  a  slow,  melodious  tune. 
There  is  no  sweeter  music 

Than  rain-drops  on  the  leaves, 
Or  whispering  on  the  casement — 
Or  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  eaves. 

And  I  love  at  night  to  listen 

To  its  music  on  the  roof, 
Building  castles  so  unreal 

That  can  never  have  their  proof. 
Then  come  the  old-time  voices 

That  I  never  more  may  hear, 
Soothing  all  my  restless  longings, 

So  delusive,  yet  so  dear  ! 

186 


THE    RAIN-FALL.  187 

And  I  love  the  silver  rain-drops, 

When  the  sunbeams  gild  them  o'er, 
Beautiful  enough  for  jewels 

That  some  olden  goddess  wore. 
Or  the  gems  we  read  of,  gleaming 

On  the  golden  gates  above, 
That  will  fade  not,  like  our  dreaming, 

When  we  meet  the  friends  we  love. 


MY   SERENADE. 

I  HEAR  it  now  !  like  memory-bells 
It  calls  the  sweet  Past  back  to  me ; 
My  heart  with  silent  rapture  swells 

With  its  delightful  harmony ! 
And  since  that  still  mid-summer  night 

When  stars  together  sang  on  high, 
It  haunts  me  with  a  strange  delight, 
And  will  forever  till  I  die. 

Ye  who  have  learned  to  reach  the  heart 

With  music's  ever  welcome  strain  ; 
Ye  who  have  learned  the  blessed  art 

Of  soothing  weariness  and  pain, 
To  thee,  to  thee  my  spirit  sings, 

For  thee  the  choicest  blessings  crave ; 
Ye  have  a  richer  crown  than  kings, 

A  stronger  power  than  monarchs  have. 
188 


MY   SERENADE.  189 

I  would  earth  had  no  cares,  no  fears, 

No  mourning  hours  for  such  as  ye  ; 
No  weary  paths,  no  sorrowing  tears, 

No  restless  waves  to  stir  life's  sea ! 
And  yet,  perchance  the  tones  I  heard 

Were  born  in  sorrow's  bitter  hour, 
When  some  poor  spirit's  deeps  were  stirred, 

Revealing  its  immortal  power. 

Now  while  the  mournful  autumn  breeze 

Comes  whispering  round  my  window  pane, 
And  whirls  the  red  leaves  from  the  trees, 

I  seem  to  hear  those  tones  again, 
As  if  a  low-voiced  angel  came, 

Baptizing  me  with  tears  of  praise, 
Thai  my  full  heart  can  only  name, 

TJte  spirit  of  Departed  days. 


BE    THYSELF. 

SWEET  !  be  thyself,  whatever  life  may  bring  ; 
Pain,  tears,  and    care ;    or    every    earthly 

good. 
Let  thoughts,  thy  aims,  and  actions,  ever  spring 

From  holy  fountains  of  true  womanhood  ! 
Then  will  thy  heart  be  ever  brave  and  strong, 
Thy  feet  tread  safely  over  life's  rough  ways, 
Hope's  star  shine  brightly,  though  the  night  be 

long— 
Thy  songs  be  victory,  with  mingled  praise. 


MOKTALITY. 

GRAVEWARD  tending  till  the  shadows 
All  are  lost  ainid  the  gloom 
Of  the  night  that  surely  gathers 

'Hound  the  stern  rapacious  tomb  ! 
Even  though  our  footsteps  falter 

As  we  near  the  future  goal, 
And  a  shrinking  fear  oppresses 

With  its  weight,  the  untried  soul, 
Still  we  journey  on  forever, 

Never  tarrying   on  our  way, 
And  the  flow  of  Time's  swift  river 

Will  not  let  us  pause  or  stay. 
Far  beyond  the  grave's  low  darkness, 

Or  the  gloom  of  life's  short  even, 
Beams  of  fadeless  light  are  shining, 

Earth  is  merging  into  heaven. 

191 


A    EESPONSE. 

THANKS,  noble  poet !  how  thy  lines 
Thrilled  through  iny  heart  at  eventide  ; 
Sweet  as  the  winds  of  orient  climes, 

That  through  the  palms  and  olives  glide. 
Last  eve  I  read  each  friendly  word, 
Limned  with  a  poet's  glorious  art, 
And  oh!  their  music  strangely  stirred 
An  echo  in  my  grateful  heart. 

I  know  that  we  have  never  met, 

My  hand  has  ne'er  been  clasped  in  thine  ; 
I  have  not  heard  thy  voice,  nor  yet 

Thy  soul-lit  eyes  gazed  into  mine ; 
But  Fancy  paints  a  golden  dream 

Of  truth  and  poesy,  to  me  ; 
And  forms  of  beauty  round  me  gleam, 

And  then  I  fondly  picture  thee! 
192 


A    RESPONSE.  193 

I  wonder  if  some  singing-bird 

Hath  built  within  thy  heart  its  nest-, 
And  warbled  forth  the  strain  I  heard, 

That  soothed  me  to  luxurious  rest  ? 
Mine  is  a  wild  and  untaught  rhyme, 

Such  as  the  winds  at  evening  sing, 
That,  floating  down  the  stream  of  Time, 

On  some  chance  wave  I  dare  to  fling. 

Accept  this  offering,  poet,  friend, 

Penned  with  the  kindest  thoughts  to  thee  ; 
Accept  a  place  till  Time  shall  end, 

Within  my  heart's  sweet  memory. 
And  if  to  thee  dark  hours  shall  come, 

And  weigh  thy  soul  with  grief  and  care, 
Then  lift  thine  eyes  to  heaven — thy  home, 

And  trust  in  God,  and  meet  me  there! 


A   HYMN. 

MAKE  me  pure  and  meek  and  holy 
Thou  who  for  my  ransom  died  ; 
By  thy  cross  I  bend  me  lowly, 
Dear  Eedeemer,  crucified  ! 

Now  to-day  upon  thine  altar 

All  I  consecrate  to  Thee  ; 
Let  me  never  fail  nor  falter, 

Ere  I  cross  Death's  fearful  sea  ! 

And  when  earth  grows  dim  and  dying. 

To  the  closing  mortal  eye  ; 
May  I,  on  thy  word  relying, 

Hope  for  immortality. 

194 


TO  MARY. 

precious  flowers,  sweet  friend  of  mine, 
That  shed  their  perfume  round  me  now, 
Are  beautiful  enough  to  twine 
Around  a  sinless  angel's  brow  I 

I  love  them  Mary,  for  they  oreathe 
A  thousand  cherished  things  to  me, 

Such  as  we  dreamers  love  to  wreathe 
In  voiceless  songs  of  poesy. 

I  love  them  that  they  are  thy  gift, 
And  hallowed  by  thy  touch  and  love, 

And  gazing  on  them  now  they  lift 

My  thoughts  to  fadeless  blooms  above. 

Oh,  may  this  little  bunch  of  flowers 
Make  blessed  all  our  love's  fond  ties, 

Till  in  those  never-fading  bowers, 
We  gather  flowers  in  Paradise. 

19fi 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 
or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 

(510)642-6753 
1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books 

to  NRLF 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days 

prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


2 1 1993 


938584 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


